#almost died for these photos so you better peep them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theramseyloft · 3 years

Text

After Ankhou died, I have had a very hard time keeping up with both manual loft maintenance and media work.

Manual loft maintenance is the higher priority of the two, so that's were the energy I have has been focused.

The birds are happy, but I have failed to advertise availability for two months.

The birds currently available do not meet the specifications of anyone on my wait list, and to prevent the loft from getting crowded, we've frozen rescue intake and implemented strict hatch control.

Breeding pairs on the roster are only permitted to hatch their first clutch with another bird also on the roster.

Every subsequent clutch will be swapped with fakes at least until all currently available cocks go home.

As I am not caught up on editing photos yet, I will have to make due with listing the name, parents, and temperament of available birds.

Please message me privately, email [email protected], or call/text 706-993-7452 for more information.

1. Raddish

Mia x Cara

Retired. ($20)

Was friendly as a young bird, but has not had the opportunity to express temperament in Qt.

Not to be bred under any circumstance due to one known and a second possible cancer in his blood line.

2. Wukong

Blue Check Chinese Owl cock

Loft Bird $30.

Wukong is an excellent father that will definitely benefit a breeding program.

He's very human shy, unless his mate isn't.

Chances of him bonding with a patient person that will let him make friends at his own pace are decent, but I can't guarantee it in good conscience.

3. Farthing

Pied Almond Blue T-pattern het for Toy Stencil mixed cock.

Betty x Hagrid

Comfortable ($50)

A bit of a himbo, Farthing is one of our better known cocks.

He likes people and often gets in my lap or on my shoulder, when not distracted by being the loft bi-cycle.

He's pretty and sweet, but Giant Homer and Frillback ancestry make him a big boy with long flights and tail feathers that will need a lot of room.

4. Leela

Khaki T-pattern mixed hen

Cody x Rigby

Comfortable ($50)

Leela is a mellow little sweety that likes my lap and shoulders.

She's a great pumper, but chain lays and starts a new clutch INCREDIBLY early! Leaving nestlings well fed, but largely unguarded.

5. Todoroki

Tippler

Sooty Ash Red Bar cock

Rescue ($20)

Todoroki is an EXTREMELY high energy breed that will need a LOT of space to free fly most of the time.

He would be happier in a loft than as an indoor pet.

6. Amiga

Blue T-pattern mix hen

Pippin x Cookie

Retired ($20)

Amiga is going to be a pain.

She hates people to the point of trying to break herself to get away from them, and she cannot under any circumstance be allowed to hatch an egg.

She provides her own hatch control by nest cup dancing on her hatchlings. She has been given two chances to hatch clutches, and eviscerated all three peeps this way.

So she will need to be housed in a loft with minimal interaction other than obsessively switching her eggs with fakes.

7. Dolly

Blue Bar mixed hen

Pippin x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Dolly is her sister Amiga's opposite in almost every way.

She's only retired from my program because she's the hen on the roster that likes people the least.

She is an amazing, devoted mother and would make a fantastic foster hen.

8. Wess

Blue tailmark mixed cock

Wukong x Suki

Curious ($40)

Wess is shy and dislikes being approached directly, but often chills nearby preening my clothing and occasionally hops up on my knee.

He is a TERRIBLE dad! It took him two weeks to start helping Dolly feed their nestlings and never sat on them when they were little enough to need it.

9. Arco

Pied Ash Red T-pattern mixed cock

Vito x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Arco is uninterested in people, but not afraid of them.

He'd be a good partner for a nervous rescue bird, or an absolutely amazing foster dad!

He's devoted to his mate and her nest and doesn't start shit with flock mates once he's settled.

10. Bridget

Blue T-pattern feral cock

Rescue ($20)

This is the boy we found with a broken wing and foot on the sidewalk under an overpass.

He's healed entirely and though flighty and skittish, gets along very well with his flockmates.

Like Arco, he takes a mate, picks a nest, settles, and doesn't start shit.

He'd make an excellent foster or partner for a skittish rescue.

11. Scan

Pied ash red cock

Cherub x Tandy

Loft Bird ($30)

Scan is Cherub and Tandy's first hatch.

I was initially going to keep him, but his brother, Nimbus, has a better temperament.

Scan is a flamboyantly aggressive pain in the ass, constantly starting shit with established pairs to earn himself a spot in the hierarchy.

He'd likely mellow out with fewer birds, but isn't interested in being social with me, so I don't think he'd be the best house pet.

12. Acer

Ash Red T-pattern mixed cock

Pippin x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Acer's classification as a loft bird is maintained by technicality.

He has to come in after repeatedly attacking nestlings.

If he does it again with different ones when he goes out on Thursday, his status will be changed to Retired foe unusually severe aggression.

This seems to be a pattern developing in the Pippin x Cookie line...

Which is going to make the birds afflicted hard to place.

13. Bell

Blue T-pattern mixed hen

Pippin x Cookie

Loft Bird ($30)

Bell is the same intense degree of skittish as the rest of her siblings, but gets along well with her flock mates.

She has the best chance of them of being ok as a house bird, but she'd honestly be happiest either in a loft or with a bird friend.

14. Rusty

Pied Ash Red T-pattern mixed cock

Ginger x Danica

Curious ($40)

Rusty is an energetic boy with places to be and stuff to explore!

He occasionally lands on my shoulder or head, or hops briefly up into my lap

He isn't afraid of people, but not liking to hold still makes him hard to interact with.

He's very fun to watch, though, and would be a good match for any one who wanted an independent bird.

15. Checkers

Pied blue check mixed cock

Ginger x Danica

Loft Bird ($30)

Checkers is less interested in people than his brother, Rusty.

He's energetic, gorgeous, and fun to watch, and would make a lovely addition to a pet loft.

He probably wouldn't enjoy being a house bird unless he had a hen to interact with.

He's very combative with other cocks, and has not yet learned the virtue of "Don't start none, won't be none."

16. Frieda

Khaki tailmark mixed hen

Wukong x Suki

Comfortable ($50)

Frieda, though not super outgoing, is friendly in spite of her shyness.

She often gets up in my lap to loaf, but doesn't like being reached for, even with treats.

If you just want warm, quiet company while you read, watch videos, or do desk work, she'll be an excellent match for you.

17. Berry

Pied blue bar hen

Cherub x Tandy

Loft Bird ($30)

Berry is not remotely interested in hanging out with me. She isn't even curious.

She's not afraid by any stretch, she just would rather do literally anything but interact with me.

With lots of enrichment or another bird, she could be ok inside, or she'd make a pretty loft bird.

18. Shinobi

Black pied mixed hen

Leonard x Elliot

Comfortable ($50)

Like most of her siblings, Shinobi is friendly and interested in people, but too energetic to really hold still for long.

She is sweet and polite about taking treats when she feels like it.

She'd be quite happy as a house bird with lots of flight time.

19. Mote

Blue check mixed hen

Wukong x Suki

Curious ($40)

Mote is shy and reserved, but mostly seems overwhelmed by how many of her older and younger flockmates want to be in my lap or on my shoulders at any given time.

When my lap is free, she will usually hop up unto it and loaf for a bit.

She has a good chance of coming out of her shell as a house pet.

20. Tye

Pied tiger grizzle ash red cock

Ginger x Danica

Loft Bird ($30)

Tye is a drop dead gorgeous little man, the spit'n image of his father, Ginger.

He's not afraid of people, but literally everything else is more interesting.

Being a roller and tumbler mix, he's a delightfully acrobatic flier who is a joy to watch.

He'd be a striking addition to a pet loft, or, with enough enrichment or a friend provided, a great addition to a household.

21. Slate

Dirty, smoky blue bar mixed hen.

Satin x Chiffon

Interactive ($60)

Slate's brother, Cotta, is my new therapy prospect.

Slate is mellow and sweet tempered, happily accepts treats, and occasionally tries to play with my fingers like she would a stick.

She's quite happy to loaf in my lap and occasionally lets me stroke her little neck with a fingertip.

22. Flint

Blue check mixed cock

Nobu x Leela

Comfortable ($50)

Flint is a sweet little man that has started jumping into my lap at every opportunity, and often flailing his way up to loaf on my chest.

He accepts treats politely when he feels like it, but doesn't try to play with me yet.

I told y'all there were a TON of birds available. XD

I'll do my best to update this post as there are updates to make, but 22 is WAY more birds ready for homes than I'm really ok with having, especially with winter on the way.

It's my own fault for failing to advertise that they were available as soon as they became available.

Now I'm just going to have to wait before I can do any more rescue work or hatch peeps out for the people on my wait list.

Back to playing catch up...

118 notes · View notes

tangent101 · 3 years

Text

Max Caulfield and Post-Storm PTSD

One thing I find interesting (and have done so myself) is speculating on how broken Max will be in a Post-Storm (either Sacrifice Chloe or Sacrifice Arcadia Bay) setting. While some people (usually those who killed Chloe) like to say "she'd bounce back!" the predominant view is that we have a shattered Max after this who needs a lot of therapy. So I thought I'd unpack this and look at why I look at this this way.

At this point I should add there is potential triggers here. I'll be examining my own PTSD and elements of Max's state of mind that may in fact result in her being in declining mental health in the wake of the events of Life is Strange.

First, let's consider what PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) is, and what causes it. And for this I'm going to start by sharing my own trauma. Because I have PTSD. I gained this after I saw a vehicle go out of control and hit two people and run over two others. The final person was trapped under the vehicle and they had to push the van at an angle to pull him out, do CPR, and... he was dead. Even if EMTs had been right there, he'd not have survived.

I suffer flashbacks thinking of this, though it's gotten better. I will flinch, visualize what happened, and feel nausea. I get tense over this and... well, it's not a happy experience to put it mildly. And I have what is likely a milder case of PTSD. I also developed it despite being in an environment that put me at a lower risk of developing it. And yes, I had minor twinges of PTSD writing this up. Two years ago I probably would have had an actual visualization and anxiety break. So you can get better with therapy and help.

But what specifically is PTSD? According to the website for the National Institute of Mental Health, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) develops in some people who experience shocking or dangerous events, with people who have PTSD feeling stressed or frightened even when they are not in danger. PTSD can occur within 3 months of traumatic events or even have you be fine and then crop up *years* later. And symptoms include flashbacks where you relive the trauma, bad dreams, and frightening thoughts which can disrupt a person's everyday routine.

People with PTSD are easily startled, can feel "on edge," have angry outburst, and have difficulty sleeping. They could go through avoidance of staying away from reminders of the experience and avoiding thoughts or feelings related to the event. Further, cognitive and mood symptoms include problems remembering key features of the event, self-negativity, distorted guilt or blame feelings, and loss of interest in enjoyable activities.

Okay, so how can you avoid PTSD? And how could Max avoid this? Well, factors promoting recovery after trauma include seeking support from friends and family, finding a support group, learning to feel good about your own actions in the face of danger, positive coping strategies, and learning to act and respond effectively even when feeling fear.

And this is the kicker. This is why Max is likely screwed as a result of the events of Life is Strange, especially in a Sacrifice Chloe setting. Because Max blames herself and her time travel for the Storm and all the weird shit that happened. She may very well believe that if she uses time travel for any reason, it will result in the Storm and a lot more people dying. And this will get in the way of being in a healthy environment to avoid PTSD.

First, consider friends and family. Max can't tell them what happened because she has absolutely no proof of what she went through. She can't prove her time travel because if she does then she dooms wherever she is and a lot of people die. (It doesn't matter if this is the case or not, she assumes it is true.) So Max is not going to confide in Warren or Dana or Victoria or anyone. She can't. And she's quite likely going to isolate herself because we have already seen at the start of the game, Max is a bit of a loner who doesn't have many friends.

In fact, her two "friends" are Warren (who she feels threatened by due to his attraction to her, as seen by his inclusion in her Nightmare sequence including learning he doctored photos of her to include himself in the picture, his peeping activities on the second day, and the honestly-creepy "Go Ape" thing), and Kate. Kate is going through her own shit and Max remembers Kate killing herself. Is Max going to unload her own issues on someone going through a lot of shit as well or is she going to swallow her problems so not to trouble her friend? And Warren is someone she feels nervous around and who has engaged in some activities that set up warning flags in her psyche. Further, when she told Warren the truth, he promptly blames her time travel on fucking everything up. In short, she trusted Warren and Warren said "you caused all this destruction." (Even if Max initially blames herself, he reinforces that point of view before Max jumps through the photo to save Chloe.)

Nor can I see her telling her parents. Again, she has no proof. Her parents are overprotective already. If she starts going off on this fanciful tale, are they going to believe her? Or are they going to assume their daughter is cracking and force her into therapy and possibly hospitalize her "for her own good" (and thus she ends up medicated and miserable, having lost her autonomy and agency)? It doesn't matter if they wouldn't as Max will worry this could happen. It is better to never say a thing. So Max internalizes everything. And we already see evidence that Max has done this sort of thing in the past. Max keeps her secrets close to her heart. She never told her parents of the time travel even when she could have had proof. So why tell them after Chloe died?

I have been overcoming my PTSD by revisiting it and working through it. Part of this was guided by therapy. Max would not be in a position to talk about this. And how could she? After all, she didn't find Rachel Amber's body (and we have no proof her body is uncovered in a Sacrifice Chloe setting). She didn't see the Storm. She didn't see most of the incidents. The closest that happened was being in the bathroom when Chloe was shot. And her story of what happened would change from the week that beta-Max was in charge and when Max Prime returned to the timeline. So even if she was talking to a school counselor? She'd quickly learn that her story changed and probably shut up and stop seeing them so not to give away her story.

Remember: Max cannot admit to the time travel because doing so means either killing hundreds of people due to the Storm or being locked away for being crazy because she has no proof.

Next, we have feeling good about her actions. For five days Max had hammered into her skull her actions have consequences. More, those consequences are predominantly bad. Far too often Max has to Rewind to fix things from her actions. If she can't Rewind? That means by acting, she's going to fuck things up. In fact, the fundamental aspect of Sacrifice Chloe states that her action to save Chloe caused all of this destruction. Max is going to second-guess herself constantly.

I mean, if she sees Kate on the roof again at a later point (because women who are the victims of crimes are often blamed by society for the crimes inflicted against them as seen time and time again with how we blame victims of sexual harassment and rape for the crimes committed against them, so of course her church and mother and aunt will continue to blame Kate for what she went through), will Max dare to act? If she does, then she might cause another Storm. She might cause damage. If Kate is on that rooftop again, maybe she was supposed to die. Who does Max think she is by trying to stop Destiny?

So yeah. Max is not going to feel good about her actions. She is going to second-guess herself. She already had that tendency at the start of the game, and Sacrifice Chloe hammers down the truth that action is bad. Better to do nothing and not interact.

We end up with Avoidance. Well, what is the biggest Avoidance? Photography. Max already has a murderer who kidnapped her associated with photography. She remembers being in the Dark Room, being powerless in the face of the man who murdered her Chloe. (Just like she murdered her Chloe. She might not have pulled the trigger, but she caused Chloe's death.) She will see Chloe's death and Rachel's death and her own suffering each time she looks at a camera and remembers Mark Jefferson. More, she knows if she focuses on a photograph she could end up traveling through time and causing the Storm. So she can't even enjoy pictures anymore because they are a threat.

That's not to say that the Sacrifice Chloe setting is all dark and dire. She does have music. She loves music. So if she puts aside the camera she might pick up her guitar and embrace music. (Hannah Telle, Max's VA, once speculated that Max would enter a career in music, probably due partly to her own musical inclinations.) So while she might give up her greatest loves, she might eventually embrace a future in music. I doubt she'd ever play in public but... that might be an outlet for a hurting soul.

Now, I've gone on at length about how dire things are for Max in a Sacrifice Chloe setting, but what about Sacrifice Arcadia Bay? Well, things end up a bit more positive in this setting because she can actually talk about going through some of these things. For instance, Max dug up a body with Chloe. She saw Chloe almost shot by Nathan in the bathroom. She saw Kate attempt suicide (whether or not she stopped it is immaterial to the suicide attempt). She learned that a trusted teacher and mentor was in fact a predator who was kidnapping young women, saw pictures of these crimes, and thus "suffers flashbacks visualizing herself in this setting." She can go to therapy and talk about many things she cannot in a Sacrifice Chloe setting and in doing so she can start to work through elements that could result in PTSD developing.

She can also talk to Chloe about what happened. Chloe knows about the time travel. She knows about almost dying (and Max witnessing Chloe's death multiple times). This gives Max a needed outlet for overcoming her own fears and concerns. But more importantly is this: Chloe is likely to tell Max to face down her fears. Chloe is the person who always pushed Max to try new things. And I honestly cannot see that changing as a result of what they went through.

Max also will learn to feel good about her actions. I mean, she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. This is the ultimate action, and while she may feel remorse for those deaths and that destruction... she also knows she saved Chloe and Chloe is by her side. She knows that her actions led to the capture and arrest of Mark Jefferson and saving Victoria Chase's life. Hell, it led to David Madsen (and probably a couple Arcadia Bay police officers) surviving the Storm because they were in the Dark Room at the time of the Storm. Her actions have consequences... and those consequences need not be dire. They can be beneficial.

So the Max of Sacrifice Arcadia Bay has a support group, she has access to therapy and can talk about some of the things she went through, she has someone she loves who believes her, she knows that her actions have benefit, she has someone who urges her to move forward. This isn't to say she won't have PTSD... but she is in a far better environment to overcome this to the point that in Life is Strange 2, we learn (in the Save Chloe timeline) that Max is submitting to galleries and that Chloe is still with her. So she's taking pictures and is in a good place in her life.

Now, what about Chloe? After all, Chloe went through some truly horrific shit herself. Chloe was almost shot by Nathan, she almost got hit by a train, she was threatened by Frank, she dug up the body of a girl she truly cared for, dozens of yards from where she was hanging out regularly, she saw a huge-ass Tornado wipe out her home town and kill her mother... yeah, Chloe's been through some horrific stuff, about as horrific as Max. More, she is in an unhealthy position at the time of the game.

But much of what benefits Max in the Save Chloe timeline also benefits Chloe. She can talk to a therapist. She has Max by her side. She has Max by her side and Max out-and-out chose her over hundreds of people. Joyce chose David over her, and for four years Chloe was in an unsafe environment. Rachel was... Rachel, and she was cheating on Chloe anyway. But Max... Max comes back, she saves her life several times, she helps Chloe time and time again, and at the end she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. That is big. That is bigger than big, it is... for once, Chloe was told "you are important." I mean, I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking of how big this is. Chloe has realized just how much Max loves her.

So... Chloe might develop PTSD. She is at risk of it. I think her triggers might similar to Max's - both girls probably will freak over thunderstorms for a while, and both may develop an aversion toward guns... at first I thought they'd differ but really, they'd align fairly well. About the only trigger issue Max would have Chloe doesn't has to do with photography (which is why Chloe is the person who'd help Max overcome any such issues).

#ptsd #post traumatic stress disorder #life is strange #lis #max caulfield #chloe price #max and chloe #sacrifice arcadia bay #sacrifice chloe #mental health

60 notes · View notes

derireo · 4 years

Text

lost and found ↦ itaru and izumi

Fate is a funny thing don’t you think? It hits you when you least expect it, and it always gives you the chance to accept it or run away from it.

「 2.8k words 」

cw: part two to sad little pair. separation and reconciliation.

Itaru and Izumi had pretended that nothing had happened after that day. Not a single peep of what had transpired that afternoon made it past their lips, and they decided that it was better that way.

Izumi forcefully shoved away the memory of Itaru's hug that brought her comfort while Itaru locked away the memory of her tired body leaning against him for support.

She chose not to remember the apologetic face he wore when he left her house that day and he refused to remember the way she had hid her face from him when he left.

Except that, Itaru actually couldn't forget the image of her still kneeling on the ground even as he stood up from the floor. The way she held a hand to her face to save what little pride she had left and still said 'goodbye' when he stepped out of her house.

Itaru couldn't forget anything, but it looked like she could.

"Are you excited for graduation?" She whispered softly, months later, as they laid on the floor in her lounge room.

That afternoon was far behind them, and Izumi was looking forward to what the future had in store for her. She continued to pretend that Itaru wasn't planning on disappearing off the face of the earth as they neared the last day of high school, to the point that she believed he was gonna stick around just a little longer.

Itaru mulled over his answer to Izumi's question as he stared at the ceiling, his hands folded atop his stomach while Izumi had her arms folded beneath her head.

"I'm in between." He said, turning his head to look at Izumi who was smiling.

"What about you?"

"I'm excited." She responded, but didn't return Itaru's gaze. "We're finally free."

Her expression was soft and held a tinge of warmth and happiness. Truly, she seemed to be excited, but for some reason Itaru felt his heart clench with sadness.

He looked back up at the ceiling, having nothing else to say, and pretended he wasn't disappointed when Izumi still didn't spare him a glance.

It wasn't until their last day had come up when Itaru felt his heart clench again. Their ceremony had finished a little while ago and his family were keeping him busy with all of the photos they were taking.

He had wanted to find Izumi after everyone descended the stairs to leave the auditorium, but lost sight of her. She should have passed him since her last name was further below on the list, but he missed her and the opportunity to celebrate with his family.

Izumi's mom hadn't come to the ceremony, claiming she needed to go to work, and she wasn't sure if the letter she had sent to her father reached him. She didn't even know if it was the correct address.

If he could offer her one more thing before they departed, Itaru wanted to show her what it would have been like to have a sort-of happy family.

His heart felt heavy and he couldn't smile for the camera anymore. His parents deemed that it was a sign that they should go home.

They drove away from the venue in silence, Itaru staring out the window while his sister scrolled through all the photos they took, his parents speaking to each other as they drove their way home.

His family understood why he was like this, having met Izumi plenty of times to find themselves fond of her too. He'd talk about Izumi at the dinner table if he had an interesting enough story, replacing Tonooka with the sound of her name falling from his lips instead of his.

They understood that Itaru had grown to like Izumi more as a friend as the days passed, but they didn't want to involve themselves when it came to her family problems.

They cared for her, of course, but they didn't want her mother to lash at them if they ever did something 'wrong' in the eyes of Mrs. Tachibana.

Itaru dropped his cap on the seat between him and his sister and dragged his hand through his hair to distract himself from the empty feeling in his chest.

"Oh. Do you think that's Izumi walking down the street?" Itaru's sister commented as she ducked her head to see through the windshield.

The question made Itaru's heart stutter and he begged for his father to stop the car so that he could greet her, but his dad refused.

"I can't." He said, apologetic. "There's a bunch of cars behind us."

And at that point, Itaru was already rolling down his window, heart racing in his chest as the wind blew at his trimmed fringe and his blocky glasses.

His heart was in his throat now as he recognized Izumi's back, still clad in their graduation gown with her cap in her hand.

She wore jeans and her sneakers to the ceremony, unable to find clothes that were cheap enough for a high school student.

It was an odd sight to behold as she was the only one in casual clothes, and there were whispers among his grad class as well as in the audience when she received her diploma with a charming smile.

Izumi told him, a few days before today, that her mother's dresses didn't fit her body when he had asked what she was going to wear.

It was a good call on her part, at least. She didn't have to walk home in heels.

But that's not what mattered. She was walking slowly, but the car was going too fast and all Itaru could do was shove his upper body out the window while calling out Izumi's name, his arm desperately reaching out to her before they passed.

His breath left his lungs then, and it felt like the world was moving in slow motion when he saw her lift her gaze from the sidewalk to see who was calling. And she smiled, her eyes meeting Itaru's for the briefest of moments as she waved him goodbye.

Her expression told him that she was accepting their end, and Itaru was barely able to utter his farewells as the car drove further and further away.

It had been, what, six years since they last saw each other?

Not that Itaru cared anymore. Izumi was but a good memory from high school, and there was nothing else he could do to find her anymore.

He had studied his ass off in university, locking himself in his own room to finish his homework and then work on studying for the next quiz, test, exam. He didn't have time to go look for someone who probably had no interest in him anymore.

So he gave himself time to play his video games of course, rather than conduct a search. His family wasn't really happy about that part, but as long as he finished university with a degree and managed to get a high-paying job, they would let Itaru continue with his obsessive hobby.

Eventually his hard work paid off, and Itaru finally had enough money to move out of his parent's house and find a new home.

Well. He didn't find a new place yet.

Hence the reason why he was currently at Veludo Station, staring at the bulletin board that had different offers for housing.

He had come here after a long day at work, his tired eyes searching for an appealing enough apartment or roommate. His briefcase felt heavy in his hand and he could feel his shoulders slouching as he continued to stare, unsatisfied with each offer that he read.

He almost didn't bother to take a step to the side when someone else came up to the bulletin board, his body exhausted with how hard he had worked today.

His side step was heavy as he had at least some respective for the people around him, but didn't bother to respond when the person quietly thanked him.

It was a woman who showed their gratitude, soft-spoken and timid. She was a bit shorter than him, her head at the same height as his jaw probably.

Itaru wasn't even going to bother looking her way until he saw how she took a photo of each flyer on the board, the sound of her camera clicking awfully loud as it rang in Itaru's eyes.

He clenched his jaw once, twice.

Then she took another photo while Itaru was struggling to read a sentence and he had to take a deep breath to calm his boiling blood.

He turned his head in the direction of the woman who seemed to be completely unaware of how annoying she was being, and as he opened his mouth to plead with her and ask her to kindly put her phone away, the words died in his throat.

"U-Uh..." His breath came out in a pathetic wheeze, seeing who it was right beside him.

That all too familiar, side-swept hair was one hint. The pigeon-toed feet was another. Those round, black rimmed glasses and that thoughtful frown she wore was just a few more.

It felt like it was graduation day all over again; when the world came to a slow and all of the breath in his lungs had escaped him.

Itaru found that he couldn't speak.

The woman felt a pair of eyes on her and had to turn to see who it was, phone dangling from her hand in a haphazard way that would have anyone sweating. Her brown, sparkling eyes caught onto Itaru and she pursed her lips to one side, wondering why he was staring.

"May I help you?" She asked curiously.

The smile she gave him was kind, and she pocketed her phone to give Itaru all of her attention.

It wasn't until he ran a hand through his hair when she realised who was standing in front of her. Her smile dropped to show her confusion and disbelief, and she visibly flinched when Itaru reached out to greet her with a handshake.

"Um. Hi." She said with cinched eyebrows, smiling awkwardly as she took hold of Itaru's hand to take it.

Her palm was warm in his grip as they gave each other a firm shake, and they took a step to the side of the bulletin board so that they avoided blocking it from the others who had wanted to check out the listings.

"Izumi." He sighed, relieved.

Relieved to see that she was okay.

"Yeah..." She nodded, smiling crookedly as she released Itaru's hand when he didn't let go. Izumi tried to be discreet when she wiped her hand on her pants to dry it (Itaru was sweating), but of course, the man saw it, and she flushed while trying to defend the man from himself.

"I-It's okay...don't be embarrassed." Izumi panicked, seeing how Itaru quickly wiped his own hand on his pant with a panicked laugh.

"You—uh, you look different." She gestured wildly, waving her hand at Itaru who only smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. He shrugged his shoulders in a sheepish way and sucked in a breath to calm his nerves, still in disbelief that he'd run into Izumi here of all places.

"Thanks... I think." He laughed.

"It's a good thing, I promise." She chuckled and pushed her glasses back up her nose with a bashful smile.

Izumi noticed that he had grown taller over the years, and that he even dyed his hair a convincingly natural blond. He ditched his glasses for contacts too, but all the while kept that lazy air around him.

She was glad to know he took care of himself while they were apart.

...She realised that she hadn't changed so much over the years.

Maybe it was a good time to run.

Izumi threw her thumb behind her shoulder and smiled.

"I've got to g—"

"I've missed you."

Itaru breathed before Izumi could finish her excuse to leave.

"You were gone before I knew it." He said softly, taking Izumi's wrist in his hand to pull her forward until they were in each other's space.

"Why didn't you give me the chance to say goodbye?"

He was close. Too close. People were probably staring at them when he bent down to her level, and she flushed a faint pink when he stared at her with a sharp gaze as he whispered.

She couldn't bring herself to lie after all the years that had passed them by and she pressed her lips into a thin line at that fact. Her wrist was trapped in his grip, so she had no chance of escaping him unless she wanted to use physical force.

Izumi was helpless in the presence of Itaru and she no longer tried to pull herself away from him.

"I didn't want to hear you say it. If I did, I don't think I would have been able to keep it together." She laughed quietly, smiling in a way that made Itaru's heart twist.

Izumi tucked a piece of hair behind her ear while avoiding his gaze and sucked her lip into her mouth, staring hard at the tie that wrapped around his neck to focus her attention elsewhere.

"You had your issues and I had mine. If anything, I think parting ways was the best choice for us to make." She murmured, flitting her gaze up to Itaru who was staring back at her.

"But...didn't it hurt? " He asked, eyes sad. Izumi looked as if she no longer felt the pain of the past, and it made Itaru envious. It looked like she had gotten over it far more quicker than he had, and Itaru wished he could do the same.

Seeing her again brought back everything he thought he had buried.

Izumi floundered at the question, visibly taken aback by the prying question and laughed; more incredulous this time around.

"Yeah? I—what? Is that even a question?" She smiled, gently tearing her wrist away from Itaru's grip.

"I was a mess for years. I mean—I still am, but, that's not the point." She waved her hands oddly to distract herself from the embarrassment that was heating her face, and she took a small step away from the man in front of her.

"Itaru. You meant a lot to me. I was so torn. I didn't know how else to cope when I didn't have you around anymore. It was like I—I was suffocating. Suffocating in the loneliness and drowning in the darkness.

But I had to learn how to overcome it all by myself. I had no one else to rely on, and so I had to become the person I didn't have. Of course, it hurt, Itaru. But if I don't learn how to heal on my own, what good can I do for anybody else?"

Izumi was breathless after her tangent, her face warm with all of the stress and sadness she had expressed to Itaru as she rambled about what she did when he was gone.

"It hurt so much when, in my moments of weakness, I'd still call you even after you changed numbers. When I couldn't visit your house because you were no longer there. When I'd still see Tonooka hanging around, telling me that you weren't going to return."

Izumi placed a hand on her forehead to cool herself down before her voice could break, and she closed her eyes as she drank in a deep breath.

"It hurt, Itaru. But I knew you didn't want to stay any longer, and I told myself that it was okay."

With her voice dwindling down to a whisper, Itaru sucked in a sharp breath and reached out to cradle Izumi into his chest before he could see her tears begin to fall.

"I am so sorry." He whispered, his trembling lips tickling the outside of her ear as Izumi sobbed into his shoulder, the moisture from her eyes staining his suit jacket.

The scent that stuck to her was still the same; freshly cooked rice with a hint of that cherry blossom perfume her boss back in high school used to gift her every Christmas.

It made Itaru cry out with relief as he held her tighter to his chest, finally convinced that all of this was real as she punched at his chest and his stomach to punish him for all of the pain he has caused her.

"I missed you so much." Itaru whispered softly as he smoothed his fingers through her hair like he used to back in the day, grunting out of slight annoyance when Izumi gave him a harder punch to the stomach.

"You're such an asshole." She cried into his shoulder, slapping at his sides. "I hate you. So much."

Itaru almost wanted to cry himself. Not because of the overwhelming emotions he felt, but because of how intent Izumi seemed to be on physically hurting him.

"My best friend~ don't be like that—ugh. Please." He coughed over her shoulder when she threw her knee up into his stomach, tears still running down her face as he held onto her for dear life.

He guessed that even something that was once lost, will always have the chance to be found again.

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#act! addict! actors!#itaru chigasaki #izumi tachibana #a3! fic #a3! scenarios #do y'all want a romantic third and final part or a platonic third and final part

48 notes · View notes

kissjane · 4 years

Text

Anon asks, I provide

Dear anonymous asked if I read Elu fanfic and the answer was an obvious YES.

There are shitloads of fics out there and making a list is dangerous because there WILL be authors/fics I forget, but here goes. All of these people are enormously talented and horribly generous (one of the dangers of both reading and writing is that you constantly go “oh, fuck, they write so much better than me, why would I even still post my stuff”), so go check them out if you haven’t.

I’ll just add a break here because this will probably get long...

[I don’t really have a favourite trope or anything and I’ll generally try everything (except maybe real kinky shit, and I’m not too much into mpreg so I usually skip those too), but I have to admit that I don’t like to get into unfinished works that have been left lingering for months. I’m always afraid they will never be finished and my poor heart can’t handle being left in the middle of all that angst! And I’m not a big fan of RPF, so those will not figure in this list either.]

First, the person who kinda convinced me to give tumblr a second chance, @pinkplanetaries. She writes hilariously funny stories with usually a good deal of smut in there. I would suggest you you check out all her work here, but if you only have time for one I’d suggest Lemonade - includes social media!

One of my favourite Elu fics of all time is For want of gold by @lallemanting. I love soulmate aus and this one is just really beautiful, well-written, just the right amount of angst and enemies-to-friends-to-lovers-to-soulmates, paced perfectly, and the characters are all so easy to connect with. So yeah. I just love it. Her WIP Wandering tides has got me hooked, so, uhm, yeah, update pretty please?

I’ve talked about this one before, but A measure of stars by @lepetitepeach is just amazing! Pride and Prejudice is such an awesome classic to start with, and the way she ran with it just blows my mind. She has a bunch of other fics too, so go browse through them here.

A great author who obviously puts great care in to her stories is @surrealsunday . Her stories feature the whole SKAM cast, and she paints them all just so spot on it’s crazy. I can only imagine how much time and effort it must take to find the right photo’s to accompany the stories for the social media part of it, and don’t get me wrong, the stories would work great without them but the way they add to it is just insane. I haven’t started on her latest story Mood tattoo yet, which only makes my life more difficult, I can tell you, because everybody seems to love it, but yeah, go check out all her fics here if you like. If you don’t have time for a long multi-chaptered read, I can warmly recommend Spark to flame too.

I have recently been following the social media au Online love by @livvyblxckthxrn here on tumblr. I applaud the way she’s weaving a story just through text messages and pictures.

Even though I don’t like asmr I did enjoy the story about it by @greathalesonfire called You’re already the voice inside my head.

If you’re in the mood for sad Elu fiction, I have to point you to All you have to do, is kiss me ‘till I’m blue by @bluronyourradar. I can only hope her artist & muse au From stone, we sculpt symmetry will have a happier ending (can’t wait!) - either way, I like how she describes the setting and the characters in this one.

A very productive writer on AO3 - and I don’t know if they are on tumblr - is herilaveur. They have some imaginative aus so give it a go here.

Because I’m a sucker for bookstores and libraries I have to add The book I read was in your eyes by @kritiquer to this list. I know I missed a bunch of others - feel free to add them to this list! And while you’re at it, @kritiquer has a lot of other works posted which are all worth a read, find them here.

@briallenko has quite a few stories posted here, they are very diverse so read the tags because some of them are rather heavy, but I did like the exploration of Vendredi 19:34 in Not afraid anymore.

Did you know that the evil mastermind prompter @nachtumringt has (half-) written an excellent fic in German called Consacré à Jupiter? For those of you who aren’t lucky enough to read German, try Dis/connected for some great non-linear storytelling.

Okay, on to A rose, by any other name by @flying-elliska. I admit, I was unsure about the premise at first, but I’m utterly hooked now! The world-building, the almost casual weaving in of the mythology aspects, the appearance of the whole gang and crew, the GORGEOUS descriptions, the spot-on characterizations... Count me in, please. Check out the rest of her stuff too, it’s all here.

Another story I’ve recently read and enjoyed and that also includes social media (seriously peeps, I feel like I’m lacking by just *writing* stories when I see all you talented authors using all these extra media) is One call away by AO3 user nutriscii - I’m sorry, I think they have a tumblr too, but I can’t remember? Help me out here, everybody. UPDATE: They do! The url is @demaury! Thx @sandalwoodhusbands for letting me know.

Pining Lucas and secretly in love Eliott? Yes please. If I can recognize real by @tawmlinsun has it all.

Just another sweet little secretly-in-love story by @eliottdemmaury, We’re just friends.

[Okay, so maybe I do have a favourite trope and it is secretly-in-love. Sue me.]

Shit, I know there are so many more stories I have enjoyed... so if I missed you, I’m so sorry. I am notoriously scatterbrained when it comes to things like this. This is where the fact that I don’t use bookmarks comes back to bite me, I guess. I think 15 is a good number for now, I could easily do another 15 though. Another time, I promise!

#asked!#Elu fics #god these are all so good and now I don't want to write anymore #I could probably do five of these lists

57 notes · View notes

thedetectivessay · 4 years

Text

“Case 002: Family Affairs”

A Busted fanfic

tw: mentions of drugs, crime.

009.

The Light House apartment building

Seoul, South Korea

Sehun isn’t sure he’s comfortable with this new plan.

When Detective Ahn called this morning, telling him to (quickly) meet Jong-min and Min-young at the address he texted him, he thought they would only be there to follow a different lead. He thought there would be a friend of the veteran from the force waiting there for them to hand over an important information. He thought they would soon be meeting the rest of the team for lunch and discussing what they found.

But to his surprise, his fellow detectives informed him that they would be breaking into the drug dealer’s apartment – and they only had approximately two hours to do it.

And oh, watch out for any of Poet’s men who may be patrolling the area around his house.

He understands that as a detective, he has the obligation to help those in need. Of course, the payment Mr. Kim’s secretary touted is an added motivation. Still, he doesn’t know that all of this is worth the trouble.

“Noona, are you sure this is safe?” he asks Min-young as she frowns at the numbers on the lock. He looks at the doors surrounding them, all closed but also all equipped with a peep hole. “The neighbors might see us and report us.”

“We should be okay. Detective Ahn says that Poet has ‘friends’ going in and out here all the time,” she says, pulling up the information the veteran has sent her. She punches in the numbers. When it chimes, she smiles up at him. “We’ll be quick. We’re just here for a short visit.”

“O...Daebak,” Jong-min marvels as he takes in the stately interior of the drug dealer’s house.

Contrary to what one would assume, Poet’s house is very fresh, free, and organized. The furniture is orderly and clean. The floor is spotless. The kitchen counter houses a couple of takeout containers, though, but even that isn’t too bad.

To an unsuspecting person, Poet will seem like any other hardworking citizen.

But of course, they know better. “Oppa, do you mind searching through his bedroom and his study?” Min-young asks. She pulls out a container of nitrile gloves from her purse and hands them each a pair. “Sehun and I will look here in the living room and the kitchen.”

“What are we looking for again?” Jong-min asks.

“Anything that connects Poet with Lee Soon-jae-ssi. Detective Ahn is convinced there’s something he’s not telling us.”

“But Poet told us already he doesn’t know him.”

“Right, but Mr. Kim also gave Sejeong the clue about Poet,” Min-young says as she and Sehun began their search. “He wouldn’t have given that to her if he thinks he’s a dead end.”

“Oh.”

“Are we looking for anything specific?” Sehun asks.

“No.” She pauses to look back at him. She smiles apologetically. “I know it would have been helpful if we know what we’re looking for. Sorry, Sehun-ah.”

“It’s okay, noona,” Sehun tells her sincerely.

He looks through the kitchen cabinets for anything remotely helpful. However, like the rest of the house, the contents of those are deceptively clean and almost boring. The drawers are a bit more disorganized, peppered with spices that, he suspects, are not one hundred percent just spices.

The fridge is clean, barely with any food in it. The storage is half-full of expired food.

Around half an hour after they arrived, he has cleared a room and found absolutely nothing.

“There’s nothing here,” Jong-min says for the fourth time that hour. He emerges from the bedroom and moves into the living room that Min-young is combing through. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything.”

“He’s a drug dealer, oppa. There has to be something,” Min-young says, scanning through Poet’s large collection of books. She stops, looks up thoughtfully, and tells them, “On the books I’ve read, sometimes suspects have secret compartments. Maybe we can look for that.”

“What will it look like?”

“I don’t know. Just look through things that appear suspicious,” Min-young says. She resumes her work, frowning at the books that she pulls off the shelf one by one. “On the TV show I watched, they said that dealers can be good at hiding their stash. It’s a little strange to me that not one bag of weed is even turning up.”

But how can a bag of drugs help us find Lee Soon-jae? Sehun wonders but doesn’t ask. He trusts Min-young; there must be a reason why she mentioned that. So, he will search.

While checking the restroom, Sehun suddenly remembers the payment they are to get after the case is over. It’s a ridiculous amount, but definitely something he will not complain about. He has been thinking of establishing his own business - a dance studio - for a while now. In fact, he’s been saving up for years, and this job is pushing his dream closer to being realized.

His dream was all that motivated him when the gigs he booked were too far and too exhausting, when the client that hired him was too demanding and harsh. When he wonders at nights if he should just give up because nothing is happening.

He thoroughly enjoys being a detective, but he also hasn’t given up on that one thing he wants. Who knows? Maybe the team can even be there for the grand opening of his studio.

His Min-young noona, Kwang-soo hyung. Jong-min hyung, Detective Ahn. Sejeong.

Jae-suk hyung.

He glances out into the hall, afraid for a moment that someone has heard his thoughts. Jae-suk. He died last year from the explosion. It was so bad that the police told them that there isn’t even any remains to bury. It had broken them all – Kwang-soo, most of all – and it broke them apart.

It’s obvious that everyone’s still figuring out how to move on, especially now that they’re all together again, but...

He bites his lip. Should he tell them? Should he tell them about the incident?

“Sehun-ah.” Jong-min pops his head in the room, startling the gentle-mannered detective. Noticing his reaction, he chuckles. “Are you okay? Did you find anything?”

“No, hyung. I’m sorry,” Sehun says, his heart racing miles a minute in his chest. “Did you – did you need to come in here?”

“Uh, maybe a bit,” Jong-min admits bashfully.

Sehun nods, getting up from his seat on the floor. Once he gets out, he heads onto the next room to his left.

He hears Min-young bringing up a concern to Jong-min when he begins looking through the room. There isn’t anything on the bookshelves (surprise, surprise), but once he laid eyes on the painting on the wall, he becomes glued to it.

There’s nothing wrong with the artwork. It’s an oil-paint in deep, twilight hues depicting an ocean just as night is setting in. Beautiful, intriguing, but not that extraordinary.

Still, there’s something about it that unsettles him.

Drawing closer, he takes in the frame. Again, nothing unusual. But... “Jong-min hyung,” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can you please help me with something?”

The water running through the bathroom sink stops promptly. Soon, Jong-min, drying his hands on his jeans, comes in. Min-young follows him soon after.

Sehun points to the painting. “Can you please help me take this down?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Taking opposite sides, they try to move it – but to no avail.

“It’s bolted to the wall,” Jong-min observes.

“Now who bolts a painting into a wall?” Min-young asks, arms crossed.

Sehun touches the frame, shakes it to see if it really can’t be moved. When he applies a bit more force, the bottom panel detaches – and reveals a keyhole.

“Whoa,” Jong-min says.

“Great job, Sehun!” Min-young says, grinning in relief. “How did you know it was there?”

“Something just felt off about the painting,” Sehun says.

“Now we just need to find the key,” says Jong-min.

“Noona, do you have bobby pins?” When the two older detectives stare at him, he explains, “We got locked out of a dressing room once. One of the guys in our group taught us how to pick locks.”

Though bewildered, Min-young rummages through her small purse.

Once she produces what’s needed, Sehun gets to work.

Minutes later, they’re looking into a medium-sized vault filled with wads of cash, a few bags of illegal drugs, a gun, and a couple of small notebooks.

They exchange wary glances. “Should we look?” Jong-min asks.

“Maybe we should call Detective Ahn about this,” Sehun suggests.

Min-young considers it. “It doesn’t look like it has any alarm on, does it?”

Jong-min sticks his hand in the vault. Silence. “No.”

“Hm. Maybe just the notebooks,” Min-young says. Then, hesitantly, she divides the notebooks for each of them to read.

The names, dates, and cash amounts recorded within the pages he takes photos of scares Sehun just a little. It doesn’t take a genius to know that each of those people in there can become potential enemies. Just last night, Jong-min and Min-young were in danger of getting killed just for knowing who and what Poet was.

The people in this notebook are people with deep, dark secrets—and deep, dark secrets are things people prefer to take to the grave with them or the people who know them.

“We should probably wrap-up,” Min-young says somberly, checking her watch. “It’s getting later now. Poet’s people might suddenly want to check up on this place.”

As calmly but quickly as they can, they put everything back to where they had found them. They check once, twice, three times to make sure that everything disturbed had been placed back and look untouched.

Twenty minutes later, the three of them are back in Jong-min’s rental car, driving back to the meeting place Jae-wook has set. They’re silent for a moment, rattled by the things they saw.

However, soon enough, Min-young breaks the silence. “Did you find anything interesting?” she asks them.

“No. Just names,” Jong-min says. His eyes are on the road, but Sehun can still see a little fear in them. “We...We don’t have to report the people we see in those notebooks, right? We don’t have to tell the police?”

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure Detective Ahn’s cop friends already knows of Poet’s clientele,” Min-young says, but even she sounds unsure.

“There are no Lee Soon-jaes in his notes, noona,” Sehun tells Min-young as he looks through the photos of the notes.

“I didn’t see him in my notebook either,” says Jong-min.

Min-young says nothing, but the shadow of discouragement in her eyes tells them enough.

As he pores over the writings again, an observation causes Sehun’s brows to furrow. “He refers to Black Roses a couple of times in some of his records,” he says.

“Yours had it too?” Min-young asks him, surprised.

“Yes.”

“Oppa? Did yours have the note?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. I can’t remember,” says Jong-min as he veers into the interstate. “I’d have to look at the pictures I took when we get to the restaurant.”

“It keeps saying it: ‘Beware of the Black Roses,’” Sehun reports, consulting his phone. “‘Black Roses: avoid at all cost.’”

“Is that a codename for a new drug mix or something?” asks Min-young.

“I don’t know.”

“If it is, Detective Ahn will tells us,” says Jong-min.

Sehun thinks about it. “But, if it is a new drug, why does he keep telling himself to avoid it? Wouldn’t that mean money?”

“Yeah, but then it could be a type that’s mixed with things that can kill the users,” Min-young answers thoughtfully. “I saw a documentary once that something like that became a problem for a city in the US. Seattle, I think? Users were dying because of what’s being mixed in. It won’t be good for business if his regulars start dying off. He’d be losing money.”

True, Sehun thinks, but it feels more like a note to self about dangerous people. Though he feels strongly about it, he doesn’t speak. Min-young is smart, and she’s usually right about these things anyway.

As if sensing his misgivings, Jong-min exclaims, “Ah! Yes, I remember. I did see something about a rose in the notebook. There was a drawing!”

“A drawing?” Min-young asks.

“Yeah. Not like cartoons, though. It looked...pretty. Simple, but clear.” Jong-min ponders over the image. “It looks like a design you’d find at a tattoo artist’s book.”

“A rose tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“So, Black Rose might be a person,” Min-young says. She frowns. “But why does he need to be careful of them?”

Jong-min shrugs. “Maybe they’re for cops.”

Min-young smirks. “Why would cops be branded like that? Wouldn’t that be too obvious?”

“I don’t know. I mean, all seven of us are branded too.” Quickly, Jong-min realizes his mistake. “Six. I meant to say all six of us have the mark,” he says more somberly.

Though the smirk has lifted from her face, Min-young still gathers a small smile to keep the older detective encouraged.

“A rival drug dealer?” Sehun suggests after a moment. “It’s not uncommon for gangs to have their own marks or colors. Black Roses can be Poet’s rival.”

Jong-min laughs. “Ya, Sehun-ah! You’re so smart!” he says as he beams at him through the rearview mirror. “How did you come up with a great idea like that?”

Sehun smiles, slightly embarrassed from the attention.

However, Min-young’s mind is on something different, something fearful. “Oppa,” she says to Jong-min. “You don’t think we’re putting ourselves in a crossfire between two rival gangs, do you?”

At that, all joy leaves the car.

“I don’t think so,” Jong-min says, but like Min-young earlier he doesn’t come across as convincing to Sehun. He tries for a grin. “Tae-hoon-ssi wouldn’t send us to do something so dangerous. He needs us to find someone. I’m sure he wants us all alive at the end with the person he’s looking for.”

Sehun catches the look on Min-young’s face through the mirror. It lasted a few seconds and wouldn’t have been caught by unsuspecting eyes. But he sees it.

Min-young knows something, something substantial about their client. It disappoints him slightly that she feels the need to keep it to herself, given that they were supposed to have given over every information about their case yesterday at the restaurant. Yet, he’s not surprised. In the end, they were employed as individuals and not necessarily as a team.

Plus – he’s keeping something from them, too, something much more important than the salary their mystery client offers. He should have told them about it. He wanted to tell them about it. But, it isn’t time yet.

Like Min-young’s secret, it’s not time for the team to know about what he knows yet.

#fanwork friday #Oh Sehun #Park Min Young #Kim Jong Min #Case 002: Family Affairs #Busted Netflix

10 notes · View notes

fanfoolishness · 4 years

Text

a world for the birds (1/10)

Andy DeMayo took up birding years ago, but his favorite hobby takes on new meaning when shared with his nephew Steven.

A series of looks at Andy and Steven’s growing family relationship.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

***

Chapter 1: learning how to see

Andy breathed in the salt air. Another visit back to Beach City in Delmarva; a good place. He’d forgotten how good, somehow, years of flying on his own and watching folks move away. But there were new reasons to come back here, Greg and his kid, their weird space family. He liked having a home base again, even if still he only visited once a month or so. Some habits died hard.

Andy and Steven sat on the porch, watching the waves as they waited for Greg to come on over. They had dinner plans at the crab place down the street. Andy was looking forward to it. He’d seen Greg last month, but it’d been a while since he’d gotten a chat with the kid, who’d apparently been spending an awful lot of time in space lately. It was still hard to wrap his mind around sometimes, though Steven seemed to take it in stride.

Andy let out a sigh, watching the laughing gulls on the beach fighting over a crab. He found himself asking a simple question.

“Hey Steven, you ever been birdwatching?”

Greg’s kid wasn’t quite as open and excitable as he used to be. Typical teenager, Andy supposed, especially since the kid had finally started growing. He’d been weirdly tiny when he met him the first time. Maybe now that he’d hit that growth spurt, he’d figured out how to get moody, too. Or maybe it was all the space stuff. Andy wasn’t sure.

Steven shrugged. “Uh, I mean, I’ve seen birds…”

“Nah, I mean, you ever actually watched ‘em? Like those laughing gulls out there?” Andy rummaged through the knapsack at his feet, pulling out a battered copy of Sibley’s Guide to Birds of Eastern North America. He waved the book at Steven. “I see a lot of birds when I fly, and after a while I got tired of not knowing their names. If, uh, you ever want to give it a try, it’s pretty fun….”

Steven’s face lit up. Oh, there was that excitable kid again. “Sure!”

***

Andy mulled over the destination for their first birding foray for a few weeks. The weather had been crummy for the rest of his stay last time, so they made tentative plans to bird the woods around Beach City and the local marsh nearby. Andy sorted through some of his old books. Was Sibley better for a beginner? Peterson? Maybe he’d throw in the National Geographic guide. He went back and forth about it for longer than he would have liked to admit.

He knocked on Steven’s door bright and early, having landed the plane well above the high tide mark. “You ready, kid?”

Steven opened the door, strapped to high heaven with binoculars, a camera, and a bulging messenger bag. He was also wearing a bright pink jacket over a blue shirt. Not exactly nature colors, but it would be fine. “Oh, I’m ready, Uncle Andy. I was born ready.”

“I… admire your enthusiasm,” said Andy gruffly. “Here ya go. Take your pick.” He held out two different guides. Steven grabbed the Sibley’s, leaving Andy with the Nat Geo.

“So I just look up the bird I think it is?”

“Yeah, but you gotta have an idea of what type of bird is, or you can get confused real easy. There’s like seven hundred birds in that book.” Andy nodded to a pair of terns flying over the water. “Any idea what those are?”

“Uh, seagulls?”

Andy tried not to grimace. “Ain’t no such thing as a seagull. Just gulls. There’s lots of different species.” He showed Steven the right section of the book, and the kid’s eyes widened.

“Whoa. I had no idea! I just thought they were all seagulls, and that they like to steal my food.”

“Well, yeah, that they do. But those there are terns. Caspian terns, you can tell by the size of ‘em. And that bright red bill.”

Steven raised his binoculars, struggling with adjusting them for a moment. Then he grinned, lowering them. “I see the red! That’s awesome, Uncle Andy. I can’t believe I never noticed those before. Are they rare?”

“Not really, no. Now that you’ve got an idea of ‘em, you’ll see ‘em all over. See the thing about birding is, it teaches you how to see birds instead of just looking at ‘em. It’s not the same thing.”

“What do you mean?”

Andy thought about the kid’s question. They walked along the sand to the plane, Andy pointing out a few willets and a lone killdeer as they went. As they neared the plane, he came up with something, huffing and puffing as they hiked up the hill.

“I mean… so many people see a bird, and they don’t even think about it. Or if they do, they think, ‘oh, it’s just a bird.’ But there’s more to it than that, ain’t there? You look a little deeper and you start to see it. A red beak on a bird you thought was just a gull. Or the flashy colors of a hummingbird or a painted bunting. Or a little peep, just digging and digging away until it comes out with a huge clam in its bill. And it just makes you think, you know? Like what else am I missing?”

“You mean about birds?” asked Steven as they reached the plane, not the slightest out of breath.

Andy wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well, yeah.”

***

The birding went great. Andy found a smooth field to set the plane down in on the edge of the Beach City woods. It was no Magic Hedge out there -- not that he’d expected that level of activity-- but he was pleased with the different types of environments the little wood and field had. The field itself, full of horned larks; the deep part of the wood, where a woodpecker lurked frustratingly out of sight; the edge of the wood, where the flycatchers perched and watched for passing bugs. Steven almost looked like he was gonna cry when Andy showed him the pages of Empidonax flycatchers, all of them almost exactly alike.“You don’t have to get those right away,” said Andy gruffly. “I’ve been doing this twenty years, I still mix ‘em up if they don’t sing. People just call them Empids a lot in their notes because you can’t tell ‘em apart. But I’d guess that one’s a least flycatcher, sitting here on the edge like it is, and that sharp little call.”

Steven wrote the bird’s name down in a brand-new waterproof notebook in pencil, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “So now I have… twelve birds for my life list? How many do you have, Uncle Andy?”

Andy laughed. “I don’t know off the top of my head. I have a list back in the plane, though. I think last time I checked I hit somewhere ‘round eight hundred? Flying takes me all over, you see. Picked up some great birds when I flew you and your dad to Korea.”

Steven gaped at him with eyes like dinner plates. “How many species are there? Now I wish I’d been paying attention when Dad and I went on that trip.” He frowned. “I guess I was thinking about other stuff, though…”

Andy looked curiously at the kid. Pensive was an odd look on him. “Uh, there’s a ton of species, almost ten grand. A damn lot of them. Always new ones to find,” said Andy. “Ooh! Look there! Tufted titmouse.”

They ended the day with forty species, not bad at all considering it was the beginning of summer and migration was over. Andy had managed to start impressing upon Steven the importance of birding by ear, especially for warblers, and Steven had immediately downloaded something on his phone that did bird calls, promising to study.

Andy left him with the Sibley’s, Steven giving him a bonecrushing hug. He’d hugged him back, awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure what to do with his nephew’s affections, but he thought it was a good problem to have.

*** Bird photos: Cornell Ornithology Lab, Caspian tern; Empidonax flycatchers, Peterson’s field guide (was too lazy to take a good picture of my Sibley lol).

#steven universe future #steven universe #andy demayo #uncle andy #uncle andy su #birding #fanfoolishness' steven universe fic #a world for the birds fic #this is up on ao3 too #but honestly i often don't go to AO3 from here #so I figured i'd post it here as well even though chaptered fics are a pain in my ass here #i'll post the next one tomorrow though there are more chapters up on AO3

67 notes · View notes

trillian-anders · 5 years

Text

amor de mi vida - 1942

pairing: bucky barnes x latinx!reader

warnings: racism, prejudice, fluff, angst, smut

word count: 3803

description: Bucky Barnes is a sweet young Brooklyn boy, just on the cusp of manhood, a hopeless romantic that falls in love with almost every girl he sees. when he sets his eyes on a young girl fresh off the boat from Cuba he finds out how hard love can really be.

for @cake-writes 1940s challenge.

“She’ll be taken care of.” Bucky said, straightening his bowtie, “If I die out there.” Steve sucked in his teeth.

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Steve glared at him, “You’re not going to die out there.” Bucky had to be rational. There was a risk. Men die every day in war. And maybe it was selfish for him to ask you to marry him so soon after the death of your Mother but he knew war was brewing, and he knew he would be going. At least this way he could send his checks home to you, he could make sure you’re taken care of if he doesn’t make it home. And that’s what mattered.

The love for you that he felt was unreal. He knew he was going to marry you, and it felt right. This day felt right. He wouldn’t change it for the world, but he only hoped you were feeling the same way.

“I have to be realistic Stevie.” He stepped away from the mirror, turning towards his friend. “If anything happens to me, I need you to take care of her for me.”

“I’m gonna enlist too.” Steve said, “I’ll be over there with you.” Bucky looked softly on his friend.

“Steve, I don’t think they’re going to let you.” There was a rattle in his chest right now, the early spring, flowers just freshly budding. Steve was just shaking a cold. He steeled Bucky with a glare.

“I’m gonna do my part. You can’t change my mind.” It was a pointless argument. Bucky knew that anyone in their right mind would take one look at Steve and immediately deny him. The stubborn bastard was just going to keep trying.

“You ready?” George Barnes asked, entering the room and straightening his tie. The two boys instantly disregarded the last conversation. Tension leaving the room as they knew it would be picked back up at a later date. There was one thing to focus on and one thing only.

Bucky Barnes was getting married.

He stood in the aisle of the church. The same church he’d been christened in about twenty years earlier. There weren’t many people here to be fair. Three of sisters sat beside his Mother in the pews, Steve stood beside him. And a couple of the girls he knew you worked with sat on your side as well. An older woman with a cane in the front. He’d seen you talking closely with her once or twice. A woman from your building he’d helped with her groceries just last week. A friend of your Mother’s.

It had taken a little work, convincing the priest to marry the two of you. When first approaching the Father having not seen him since he read your Mother her last rites, seeing him speak at her funeral, he struggled with whether or not he would allow your union. But finally settled on, “If your union be blessed, it shall be blessed by God.”

He agreed to a small ceremony. No announcement. Not so certain members of the community wouldn’t be pounding on the rectory door. A small ceremony in the middle of the work week, quick. As quick as possible.

He stood behind Bucky now, bible in hand. The small older woman who usually played the organ had been dismissed. Ginny was going to play the church piano as you made your walk down the aisle. Your arm in George’s.

The piano began, the tinkling keys chiming through the wide open space, echoing off the high ceilings. The first sight of you took his breath away, eyes immediately watering.

If Bucky could ever freeze a moment in time it would be right now. The thin veil shrouding your face, lips void of their usual victory red lipstick in a soft blush. The curve of your jaw, the corners of your lips upturned. Your dark lashes framing your deep brown eyes. Your hair swept from your face loosely curled, pinned in a bun at the nape of your neck.

The dress you’d made yourself. The sweet white fabric was bought for you by his Mother as a gift. The satin reaching your knees. A splurge by him on some white peep toe heels that set his loins on fire.

His hands were shaking. Not out of nervousness, but excitement.

Steve stood to his left as Becca settled across from him, not even realizing your shoes were trodding through the petals she just strewed down the aisle as you walked.

You stopped in front of him and Bucky grew lightheaded as you peered up at him through your lashes.

Your hand met his, soft. He helped you up the three steps to stand in front of the altar. The good Father read from the Bible, and the two of you knelt before him as you took communion.

Rings were exchanged to accelerated heartbeats. And a soft kiss exchanged at the end.

“Hello Mrs. Barnes.” He whispered against your lips.

“Hello Mr. Barnes.”

You’d bought a new bed for the apartment, you couldn’t bare to lay on the mattress your Mother died on. It was tossed before her body had even been in the ground. The new bedroom is a little lighter, the bundle of dried peonies from the early days hanging in a bouquet on the wall. An empty space where you’ll hang your wedding photo.

It seems almost suffocating now. Bucky having swept you off your feet to carry you over the threshold, laughing and kissing you softly, the two of you toeing your shoes off to slow dance in the living room, drunk off champagne.

His fingers twisted in the fabric at your hips as he chased your lips. Meeting over and over in an intense embrace. His fingers moved to toy with the buttons on the back of your dress, eyes half lidded starting at him as the two of you caught your breath. Your back met the wall in the hallway, his form covering yours, hips pressed together. The hard length of him throbbing in his trousers.

Heart racing you turned and let him pull the buttons from the loops, the satiny white fabric coming to pool at your feet. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, brushing the thick curls out of his path.

Your hearts were racing. The apartment suddenly so quiet, just the heavy panting breaths and the wet sound of your lips meeting. His thumbs brushed over your nipples through your brassiere. The white silky fabric over your hips held the nude hose on your thighs. His fingers dipping to play with the stay-ups.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, pressing his lips to the skin below your ear. His bowtie hung loose around his neck, his shirt had two buttons undone, suspenders forgotten, pants low on his hips. You nod, shivering in excitement. His lips meet yours once more, walking you back towards the bed, the backs of your knees meeting the soft surface. You fell softly onto your back, Bucky’s half lidded eyes taking your body in as he slipped his shirt from his shoulders, toeing off his socks.

“Te quiero [I love you].” Was whispered in the room as he shifted your slip from your body, tossing it behind him. Your brassiere quickly tossed as well, his calloused hands coming to lay under your breasts. Nipples pebbled in the cold air, his eyes stuck on yours as his pink tongue peeked from his lips. The cool muscle sent a shiver down your spine, a thrumming in your core as he took your rosy tan nipple into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the first true sexual contact the two of you have had.

In those dark moments, in the front seat of his car, in the back office of the shop, in the kitchen after washing the dishes. Neither of you had dared. His fingers would twist in your skirt, brush against your calves. Breathy moans exchanged between kisses, but Bucky wouldn’t dare move further than that. Not until now.

Your stay-ups were removed, deft fingers slipping your hose down your leg, the soft press of his lips following the path of exposed skin. Down one leg, then the other. His pants were discarded, the heavy weight of him against your thigh through his boxer shorts as his fingers tangled into your hair, slipping the pins loose. Your hands trembling on his lower back, the muscles shifting underneath your fingertips.

“Eres tan hermosa. [You’re so beautiful].” He mumbled against your throat, trailing his lips back down your body to the top of your silk and lace, covering your last bit of modesty. His blue eyes met yours, blush pink lips bitten between his teeth as he dipped his fingers into your hips, pressing his face against the junction between your thighs. Your face flushed as he took a steady inhale. His tongue coming out to lap against the fabric. Once. Your fists clenching at your sides. Thighs trembling.

“James…” Your breath hitching as he pulled the last scrap of fabric from your body.

“Y/N…” He kissed your hip, “Let me do this.” His hands found your thighs, pressing them up against your chest, your face flushing with heat. Eyes unable to meet his. You lay an arm across your face. Nervously unable to look as his cool breath met your labia. His fingers parting your lips and that strong, soft muscle coming to lap at your entrance for the very first time.

Your breath caught in your chest, “Tell me what feels good.” His tongue fumbling, searching for a spot he’d been told about, nervous and shaking. Your hips bucked against his face as he found it. The little bundle of nerves that made you release a moan from deep in your throat. His cock twitched in his shorts, rubbing it against the bed to try to release some of the pressure he was currently feeling.

You’ve touched yourself before, but it never felt like this. This felt so much better. The soft muscle of his tongue lapping at the little bundle of nerves, a wet sound filling the room. An obscene wet sound. Your moans increase as the pleasure builds. Chasing your release against his face. His arms circled your thighs as you became breathless. Back arching as you came on his tongue, a moan hummed against your clit as you grabbed your breasts, hips bucking wildly as you rode out your orgasm. Panting with release.

The room quieted as you reveled in a glow. Bucky shifted back onto his knees between your legs, the head of his cock poking from his waistband, a bead of precum shining on the tip. His hands massaged your trembling thighs before slipping his boxers off of his hips, the heavy weight of him pressed against your body, hands cradling your head as he kissed you. The tang of you heavy on his lips.

“I love you.” You whispered against his lips as the tip of his dick met your entrance. Knees shifted around his hips, his hand met the mattress next to your head, eyes looking down long enough for him to watch as his head disappeared inside you. His eyes looking back into yours,

“I love you too.” Your wet channel gave way easily to him, a slight burn from the stretch, neither of you breathing until he was fully seated inside of you. You couldn’t look away from one another as he stilled. His fingers laced into yours, breaths mingling, eyes watery. His hips shifted back, before slowly meeting yours. His teeth tugged on your bottom lip as he set rhythm.

Soft moans soon filled the room. Heavy breathing, the wet sound of your body giving into his. It didn’t last long, your first time. His first time. His hips stuttering against yours soon after they’d met for the first time. His release spilling inside of you as his head found your shoulder. The two of you lay connected for a minute before Bucky rolled to the side, pulling you tightly against his chest, fingers twisted in your hair.

“The next time will be longer,” A blush on his cheeks, “I promise.”

The next morning, when the first rays of the sun met the corners of the apartment, Bucky’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as his hips met yours, your leg pulled over his hip as you lay facing each other. One hand kneading your ass as he ground your clit against his pubic bone, your fingers slipping between you to bring yourself over the edge, head tossing back moaning as he released into you for the third time that night.

“Te quiero.” Again. And Again.

It was a few months later. Just a few months into your marriage. He came home in uniform. And your heart stopped. He’d entered the home, an apology of flowers in his hand, hat held at his side. Your back had been to him, humming as you pressed together dough around the spiced meat mixture you’d marinated the night before.

Bucky’s heart dropped as he realized you were making him lunches for the week. Lunches he wouldn’t be eating. He should have told you, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to see you cry. But it couldn’t be helped.

“My love.” He spoke from the doorway, and when you turned to him he could see your face immediately fall, eyes beginning to shine with tears. “I’m so sorry.” He watched you toss the small pastry onto the counter top, turning from him. “Dahlin’ please.”

“Don’t call me that.” You wiped your hands on a dish towel. The flowers were laid on the kitchen table, “When are you leaving me?” His heart dropped in his chest,

“I’m shipping out tomorrow.” A loud clang as you dropped the pan you were holding. He flinched.

“Mañana?” He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t see you cry. Your voice was cracking, “How long have you known?” His hands met your shoulders, but you shrugged them off, moving out of reach.

“They just gave me my orders today.” A sheet of paper on the kitchen table, one he’d just put there. His tag number and division. “Please don’t do this babydoll.” Your eyes were firey, overflowing with anger as you picked up the paper, only being able to understand a few words there.

“War ruins people James.” He could feel his eyes sting, tears building at the despair in your voice. “My Father, when I was a child…” You sunk down at the kitchen table, “He fought in the rebellion.” Your eyes scanning the paper trying to make sense of it, “The Cuban military had been killing Afro-Cubans, there’d been a massacre. A few years before I was born. My father fought with Estenoz against the Cuban Army but they failed.” Your watery eyes met his. “He was never the same. My Mother became pregnant with me a few years later but… he killed himself before I was ever born.” Bottom lip trembling.

Bucky sunk down to his knees in front of you, hands gently grasping yours, “I can’t stand by and let the Nazi’s get away with what they’re doing.” His jaw clenched, before he brought your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles, “They’re saying that people are being kept in camps, being tortured, killed. Who would I be if I didn’t do what I could to stop them?”

“I don’t want you to go.” The small plea broke his heart. He didn’t want to do this to you. He didn’t want to leave you. But there was an obligation. His Father fought in the last war. His Grandfather fought in the Civil War. His Great-Great Grandfather fought in the Revolutionary War. They all came home, and so will he. But just in case he didn’t...

“Steve will be here.” He kissed the inside of your wrists, “He’ll keep you company until I get back.” If he gets back. You shake your head, eyes spilling over with tears. “Amor de mi vida,” He kissed your knuckles, bringing your hands to his shoulders, burying his face in your stomach. “This is for us, for our future.” Mumbled into the fabric of the cotton apron detailed with hand stitched little pies and cakes you’d worked on while listening to the radio at night.

What future?

“There is no future if you’re gone.” You lifted his face to yours. His eyes wet with tears. What more could be said? There was a stalemate. But you knew he had to go. You knew as soon as the news report about the attack on Pearl Harbor that you’d be losing him. It made your heart ache.

That night the two of you couldn’t get close enough.

The hot breath, whispered sighs. The rocking of his body against yours, fingers intertwined and your breasts pressed against his chest, legs wrapped around each others as you met over and over in a loving sweet crescendo. The shaky breaths of settling after, your lips met the skin of his shoulder.

You’d gone to the Stark Expo.

Steve had disappeared somewhere in the night. Bucky shrugging and saying not to worry about it, that Steve said he’d be by for breakfast tomorrow before Bucky left you. Before he left both of you.

“I’m fine,” Winnie sighed, watery and obviously not fine, “I’m alright.” The Barnes household was tense this morning. A goodbye from all that no one knew if it would be their last or not. Bucky was dressed in his uniform sans hat, drinking coffee with George at the dining table. The girls chattering about in the kitchen, setting the table, bringing out plates. But even their enthusiasm was stunted by the knowledge that Bucky had to be at the dock in an hour and a half.

His hand gripped yours under the table. His left in your right. His thumb tracing a soothing pattern over the back of your hand.

“Everyday Buck.” Ginny said, “We’re expecting a letter everyday.” Becca was quietly picking at the scrambled eggs on her plate. Suzy and Ruth had been taking turns hugging their brother all morning.

“I’ll do my best Gin.” Steve hadn’t showed. Bucky was trying not to feel too down about it.

“Maybe he’s feeling down about being rejected again yesterday.” George reasoned. Maybe. Bucky sighed, clearly upset with his friend’s absence. You tighten your grip reassuringly and he gives you a tight smile.

“That’s probably it.” Bucky put a slice of pancake into his mouth, a little syrup dribbled onto his chin. You took your napkin, licking the corner before wiping the sticky substance from his face.

“It’s hard for him.” You assure Bucky, “He’ll miss you.”

“We’ll all miss you.” Becca grumbled from across the table. It wasn’t a secret that Becca was angry with Bucky. She hadn’t talked to him much since the two of you had gone for dinner a couple weeks beforehand and he talked about enlisting. The cold shoulder she had perfected over the years, her stubbornness was the same as Bucky’s. She could go on forever.

Bucky sighed, smiling at his youngest sister. “I’ll miss you the most Becks.” You smile softly, the little girl’s watering eyes wiped before they could spill.

The docks were busy. Thousands of soldiers dispatched, ready to fight. The Barnes family said their goodbyes, you gave them their time. The girls sobbing, Winnie comforting them as George and Bucky had one last moment together as Father and Son. A promise of “I’ll see you soon, you better write.”

The affection George Barnes had for his family was unparalleled. In a time where men didn’t show emotion, they were distant, moody, belt welding masters of the house. George Barnes was a sweet man who always made time for his children. Doted on his wife. The girls with every new dress they bought would model them for their father and he would appreciate a detail. “I really like that bow, or that color green really suits you.”

“We’ll keep an eye on her son.” He whispered to his boy, his eyes watering, “Do me a favor.” His hand gripping Bucky’s shoulder tight, “Don’t be a hero.” Bucky’s eyes widened with the statement. “I know you, and I know you want to fight for what is right and what you believe in but trust me when I say this…” A somber tone in his voice, “Men will die around you, people you grow to care about, men you love, civilians you wish you could have saved.” George began to cry, wiping the tears before they were dripping from his chin, “Don’t do anything that you know will get you killed, you’ve got a wife and family to come home to. You hear me?”

“Yeah Pops, I hear you.” Bucky was brought in for a hug. The barreled chest of his father gave him some comfort for his shaky nerves. George Barnes was a man that had seen war. The quiet nights, the ones he wouldn’t talk about. Those nights Bucky knew he would be coming home with. But George Barnes was a good man. He took care of his family, he was a good father. And Bucky was lucky for that.

“Hi.” You breathed, eyes already watering. Bucky frowned, holding his arms out for you.

“Oh dahlin, don’t cry sweetheart.” The two of you rocking back and forth. His family partially blocked you from view in this secluded corner of the docks. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I love you,” So soft and sweet against your lips. The memory of last night and this morning, the longing to be close again. A picture of you was stuffed into his journal. A small photo of your wedding picture was in his wallet.

“I love you too dahlin,” His hooded eyes gazing into yours, “I’ll be back before you know it.” You nod, the tears slipping freely down your cheeks to be caught by his fingers, gripping your jaw and bringing your lips back to his again. A long soft languid kiss, a kiss goodbye.

“Come home to me Barnes.” He nods, kissing you one last time.

“There’s no one on this earth that could take me away from you,” He cooed, “Especially not Adolf Hitler.”

You saw him on the deck of the ship. Hand waving among men, blowing you a kiss as the horn cut through the air and the ship left dock. You couldn’t move. Heart racing and sweaty palms until the ship disappeared. Winnie’s hands met your arms, smoothing down the blue velvet dress you were wearing. You fiddled with the buttons on the front,

“We have to go now honey.” You nod, eyes still staring out at the horizon, wishing the ship back.

taglist // @corneliabarnes @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @albinotigerpython @cake-writes @iheartsebastianstan @000bananaclip000 @shadowbuisness @sprinkleofbooty @gifsbysimplysonia @vhsbarnes @the-soulofdevil @tinmunky

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #1940s bucky barnes #cake's 1940s challenge #steve rogers #captain america #the winter soldier #latinx!reader

111 notes · View notes

thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years

Text

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: A bit of angst

A/N: Sort of trucking along, now into chapter 4, which gets us into the meat of this whole story, so I guess this sorta qualifies as a slow burn? Not sure. Anyway, enjoy!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld , @lilkermit14 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

Part 2 – Well, It’s Valuable for Starters

Coral Gables Restaurant sits right on the banks of the Kalamazoo River, serving as the perfect backdrop to any lunch or dinner date. It was Robert’s favorite place to eat and the whole staff knew him. So, lunch dates for the two history buffs could last hours and no one would say anything to them.

Long after the lunch plates had been taken away, Robert nursed his beer and Rosemary leaned back in her chair, letting the early summer sun warm her skin. As she sat there with her eyes closed, Robert let himself just watched her. She was tall with a brunette pixie cut – the only hair style he’s ever seen her sport – and he noted there was greyer hair than when they first met and finer lines on the youthful face.

She took up a lot of space with her personality and that’s what he loved best about her. Of all the people Robert called his friends, none were close to him like she was. When he met her not long after she started at the museum and it was an almost instant rapport.

He never had children of his own, never even gotten married. But something about Rosemary drew him to her and he felt this love for her like he hadn’t ever felt for anyone else in his nearly seventy-two years. When the doctor gave him the prognosis, he realized the sadness that had washed over him wasn’t about his death but the fact that he had someone he was leaving behind. It both hurt and consoled him. He wasn’t going to be alone.

“Rosie.” His voice was soft, but she still heard him and opened her eyes. He smiled at her and she sat up and nodded, pulling her chair closer so she was more comfortable to chat. The waitress appeared with refills for Rosemary’s lemonade and another beer for Robert. They stayed quiet until she left. When they were alone again, she raised her eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.

“If there are things in those boxes that you can sell for the museum, go for it. There are a few I want the museum to have and one item it needs to take.”

“Well, I doubt I’ll take anything that will cause me extra work, but we can draw up the deed of gift on the other items as normal. I already have my eye on a few things, which are probably among what you are already giving us.” He nodded. “What’s the item you want us to take for sure?”

“The Cornucopia.” Her eyebrow raised in confusion at the comment. “It’s a priceless art piece, a friend of mine valued it at three-quarters of a million dollars. On the low end of things.”

“WHAT?” Rosemary’s jaw dropped. Holy shit.

“I know, I was surprised it valued so high as well. I bought it at an antique shop in Chicago years ago and given how valuable it is, I want the museum to have it.”

“Uh, hell yeah!” Rosemary’s eyes began to gleam with glee and Robert laughed. He knew she was thinking of Fred and he was pleased he could help her get a leg up on the man. While Breyers had never been anything but courteous towards the storeowner, there was an underlying hostility to the curator’s words and actions. Something about the greedy curator never sat well with Robert and he shared in Rosemary’s dislike of him.

“When we head back to the house after lunch, we’ll talk more.” The two sat back and grinned at each other.

---***---

“But, ma’am. . . Ma’am. . .” Agent Horacio paused, the murderous look on their face not even showing up in their voice. “Ma’am, I get what you are saying. I’m asking you to set up a meeting with me to go over the case. Yes, we reopened it. Yes, we’re working on it. Now if you would just. . .”

The ever-patient voice of the agent faded into the background as Carmichael skirted the table with a handful of photos, a small smirk on her face. She walked up next to Pike as they filled the evidence board with the last of the pictures from the case files. A second and third board were set up on the other side of the room, allowing the team to make further critical connections to the cases they had so recently linked together.

They worked quietly for a bit, Carmichael subtly shooting glances at Pike, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she turned to look at her partner.

“Okay, spill. How did the date go with Lucy in Accounting?” Her voice dropped to a whisper belying the eager look on her face. Pike grimaced at the question as he pressed on the last of the push pins.

“There was no date. She stood me up.” Her loud gasp caused a few of their team to look their way, but she ignored them, giving Pike a look to continue. “I called twice, and she never answered. Never even showed up to the date itself. I don’t think I can go back to Bobby’s anymore. Lindsey is starting to feel sorry for me.”

“Hell, I feel sorry for you, Pike. That’s the third date you’ve been stood up on in, what? Two months?” Carmichael’s voice softened. The poor man was having a rough time of it, what with Lisbon breaking his heart, his divorce before that, three failed short-term relationships after he came to D.C., and now this series of no-show dates over the last year. She frowned and laid a hand on his wrist, which had stilled on the last pin as his words died on his tongue.

He didn’t look at her and she could feel him stiffen underneath her touch. He pushed down his growing frustration at the situation and turned to smile at her, the grin not coming close to reaching his eyes. His shoulders squared up as if to say the conversation was done. She had known the man for six years and just wanted him to be happy, but for the moment, she gave him a small smile to help him with his charade.

“It’s okay Carmichael, maybe I’m just not meant for a relationship.” His voice sounded almost sad at the tone and she bowed her head.

“I don’t think that’s true, Marcus.”

“Yeah, well the universe is working hard to tell me that I’m meant to be single. I should be listening instead of fighting it.” He sighed and turned away, walking out of the room before anyone could comment on the large frown that had formed on his face. She looked after him, a defeated look in her eyes. No one loved as hard and as loyal as him, he deserved the world. She knew that the right person for him was out there, but she couldn’t understand why Pike hadn’t crossed paths with his soulmate yet.

She turned back to the board, picking up the marker to begin labeling the photos they had posted. While she wrote, she silently prayed to the universe that her partner’s heart found its home sooner rather than later.

-*-

Pike looked at himself in the mirror, droplets of water still on his skin and the strands of hair framing his face were damp. Splashing water on his face helped cool down his skin, but Carmichael’s words of sympathy had stung, even if she meant well, and he had to leave the room before he got upset even more. As he leaned against the sink, he bowed his head and took a few deep breaths. The small moment of zen from earlier in the day had faded and the headache had returned.

It was known that the agent wore his heart on his sleeve, that he was loyal and generous to a fault. Most of his colleagues loved him for it and it inspired loyalty from those who worked under him. But none of that seemed to translate into anything romantically successful. At this point, he was certain that he was a running joke throughout D.C. and that women agreed to a date to see how long he’d wait at his favorite diner for someone to show up.

Last night, Lindsey comped his dinner because she just couldn’t take the defeated slump to the man’s shoulders one more time. She even went home and hugged her wife, hoping a little of her joviality would seep into her bones. If Pike knew that, he would have bitterly laughed at the idea that he can help other people love harder, he just couldn’t get people to love him back.

After letting the dark thoughts swirl through his brain for a little longer, he stood up straight and glanced into the mirror. He wiped his face one more time and straightened his tie. Without looking back at his reflection, Marcus Pike vowed to himself that he wasn’t going to let anyone in anymore. He was here to catch art thieves and that’s what he was going to do.

He just prayed the yearning in his heart heard the declaration, too.

---***---

Rosemary huffed as she staggered up the walkway to the front door of the museum with the heavy box in her arms. She cursed herself for thinking that she could carry such an awkward and heavy load by herself, but she was a stubborn mule and was determined to get it all done in one trip. She sighed when she reached the top of the short staircase.

She reached out and kicked the frame of the door into the building knowing that their long-time volunteer, Bob, was at the front desk. There was something about him that grated against Rosemary and if truth be told, he was a bad volunteer, but he was the only reliable one and so she had to put up with him and his nonsense.

She realized with a start that she’d been standing there for several minutes, and no one had come to the door. She peeped through the glass and saw Bob sitting there, looking her way. Grimacing as she shifted the box, she kicked the door again, harder this time.

And he still didn’t move.

With a low growl, Rosemary shifted around and pressed her butt against the handicap button on the wall and with a sigh of relief, she walked through the now open door. While the June day wasn’t particularly hot, the sun was still warm and the physical activity overheated her. The cool air of the lobby felt like kisses of heaven on her skin and she slightly closed her eyes at the sensation. When she opened them, she looked directly at the man in front of her.

“Bob, did you see me kicking the door?”

“Yep.”

“So why didn’t you come open it for me, you clearly saw my hands were full.”

“Kicking is rude.” The man’s rheumy eyes stared at her and it took two deep breaths to ensure Rosemary wasn’t going to start screaming. She gave him a tightened smile instead and she walked over to the elevator. “Rosemary, the elevator is for handicap people, you’re not handicapped.”

“Bob, the elevator is for everyone. Goodbye!” She entered the small space and leaned against the wall. We need him, we need him, we need him, she chanted to herself, nothing convincing her that it was true. The ride to the third floor was a short one, but the heavy box made it seem longer. When the doors opened, she took a left down to the staff offices and her workspace.

She did her best to carefully set the box down on the bench, but she grimaced as she heard rattling inside. When it didn’t sound like anything broke, she heaved a sigh of relief. She turned her head as she heard footsteps from the hallway and within moments, Helen enter the room.

“How did it go?” She had a small smile on her face, coming closer to the work bench

“Not bad, I took one big box of stuff – good stuff, too.” The curator grinned and Helen grinned back, curiosity all over her face.

“Nothing ugly?”

“God no. As my grams liked to say, ‘God don’t like ugly.’” She lifted the lid off the box and suddenly Rosemary screamed, scaring Helen and causing her to scream, too. The latter jumped back towards the door, unsure of what was happening. The sounds of the two women yelling echoed in the room until the scream Rosemary let out evolved into a laugh, tinged with adrenaline. “FUCKING ROBERT!”

“WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?” Helen was now on edge and creeping back closer to the work bench, still wary. Rosemary reached into the box and lifted out the stuff monkey she passed over earlier. Helen recoiled at the sight.

“I thought you said you didn’t bring back anything ugly!”

“I didn’t! He must have put it in here after I told him it was worthy of the dumpster.” The laughter continued as she looked at the stuffed animal. Finally, she sighed and set the monkey down on the bench.

“You’re not putting it in the collections are you?” The director still looked at the item with wariness. It was truly ugly with its almost realistic eyes. She shuttered before looking away.

“No, but I’m going to keep it, though. He’d probably make a better watch dog than Banana.” Looking around, Rosemary turned to her boss. “Speaking of which, where is that dog of mine?”

“He’s in your office, conked out on the couch and snoring away.”

“See?! I need the monkey now. My own dog, of whom I am his whole world, didn’t even come hither at my screams. I am abandoned and unloved.” Rosemary ended her dramatic comment on a sigh, her hand against her forehead. The two women began to laugh again.

“By the way, please for the love of all that is holy, find someone to replace Bob at the front desk. He watched me kick the door to get in and refused to get up.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yeah, ‘kicking is rude.’” Rosemary mimicked the old man’s gravelly voice and rolled her eyes. Helen patted her shoulder and said she’d chat with Bob about it, but the curator didn’t have much faith in the forth-coming conversation. The director left the room and Rosemary dove back into the box to pull out the rest of her treasures.

---***---

“Here is the paperwork on the history of The Cornucopia. Please promise me that you’ll list this as a restricted item.” Robert sat down, a file folder in his hand. “I know better than to make outrageous demands, but I want it in the paperwork that this item cannot be loaned out, it cannot be displayed, and it is to remain the collections for the rest of the museum’s existence. I don’t even want it announced that you have the piece.”

He took a breath and Rosemary’s eyebrows furrowed. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he had restrictions on the item. He continued.

“The piece is valuable; I don’t want the museum becoming a target for it. I’m giving it to you because I know you’ll protect it.” Rosemary nodded as she thumbed through the file, skimming the history of the sculpture. She looked up at him.

“Let me write up the deeds for you and we’ll note everything you want me to list in terms of restrictions.” She got up and went to her computer set up on the table. For the next hour, she sat asking Robert questions and filling out the forms, using the printer to create physical copies. After she was done, she sat back.

“We’ll take good care of it. I promise.”

---***---

The next day, Rosemary sat at her desk, imputing the new collection pieces into PastPerfect, transcribing notes she had scribbled in her binder. Most of the pieces she had taken were worth it; besides the map, she took a few pieces of pottery from a celebrated local artist, a couple of prints that dated back to the Fort’s early years, seven quilts, and several history books. And of course, The Cornucopia.

She pulled the file out for the sculpture and sat back in her chair. After opening the folder, she began to read the files she had skimmed earlier. The more she read the appraiser’s history more her eyebrows crawled up her forehead.

The Cornucopia was created for Russian Tsar Nicolas II by renown Ukrainian artists Artem Chumak. The bronze sculpture was inlaid with rubies, sapphires, yellow diamonds, jade, pearls, and opals, most mined from around the Russian Empire. Ukraine historically has been known as the breadbasket of Russia and the piece was commissioned by the Ukrainian government as a gift to Nicolas upon his marriage to Princess Alexandra of Hess. It’s value at the time of creation was $250,000 USD.

It is known that Dowager Empress Maria took the piece, along with several other valuable items after the fall of the Empire and she sold it to the Grand Duke of Luxembourg in 1920, who in turn loaned it to the country’s National Museum of History and Art the following year. The museum returned it to the family during World War II to protect it from the advancing German army. It was again loaned to the museum for another twenty years before the family chose to cease ownership.

The piece was then sold via Sotheby’s Auction House in 1965 to a private collector in the U.S. and has remained in private ownership since then. Because of its history and the materials used, the value of The Cornucopia is approximately $750,000 for insurance purposes, but on the auction block, could fetch upwards to . . .

“Three million dollars?!” Rosemary shrieked, her feet dropping to the floor as she sat up. She looked at the sculpture sitting on her worktable and her face broke out in a grin. Oh, ho ho ho, she really got the leg up on Fred Breyers this time. This was the best gift that Robert could have ever given her.

#Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #the mentalist

18 notes · View notes

wichols · 4 years

Text

Angst/Fluff Writing Prompt Fun Wrap Up!

Now that I have finally finished all the submitted prompts I thought it would be fun to do a cute little wrap up in case you might have missed any of the stories along the way, along with some background/thoughts/feels about each one! Duration May 13th - July 15th (that was longer than I expected but cool!) 1. Rain and Confessions (Kyoya X Haruhi WC: 1,662) Prompt: “And yet, you’re still not enough.” Summary: After her graduation from law school, Haruhi and Kyoya pack up her apartment in preparation of Haruhi moving back to Japan. Kyoya has been waiting years for this moment and he is going to let Haruhi know exactly how he feels about Haruhi and isn't going to let a little rain ruin his plans for them. AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: This prompt is a canon insecurity for Kyoya and so it was easy for me to write- considering I posted the prompt list on the 13th and uploaded it on the 14th. But also it was so hard to write because they are my OTP!! It pained me to make them suffer like this. To make Kyoya vulnerable is tough. To bring down his walls in front of someone is a struggle. Upon reading back through it I dare say there is a peep of inspiration from Pride and Prejudice (can you spot the hidden Mr. Darcy-like quote?). Favorite Line: “You say that you will do all these things out of your love for me but it is because of my love for you that I cannot accept your offer because you become less of who you are and more of the person you think I need.” 2. Public Masks for Private Matters (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 1,269) Prompt: “Being alone would be better than being married to you.”

Summary: Haruhi has finally reached her breaking point. After winning her career-defining case her world comes crashing down. Blame has been assigned and trust has been broken between Haruhi and Takashi.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: The TakaHaru ship is by far one of the hardest ships to use with angsty writing because of the nature of Takashi. The hurt he could inflict on Haruhi isn’t something so obvious like physical/mental/emotional abuse. I think in my mind that it is his lack of response is the most believable response to causing conflict between them- his inability/insecurity to say the right thing at the right time. At least that is what it would come off to others. Takashi is an introvert/observer. If he was experiencing emotional distress he would probably cave in and bottle things up, holding the burden alone. (Spoliers!!) The real secret behind this fic is that Takashi only ever told her the truth. Haruhi busted a major company for the terrible working conditions of their low income employees. A week after the close of the trial she was jumped by a group of people and was sent to the hospital. They had know she was pregnant for a short while and wanted to keep it a secret because of the high profile nature of the case- not even telling friends or family. They lost the baby and it broke them. To this day they still have not mentioned the loss of their child. So naturally they suffer alone, putting on masks for the public. I honestly thought about writing something more with this background information but it just seemed a little difficult to set up the scene. Favorite Line: “The love I held for you is what blinded me.“ 3. Cameras and Questions (Kyoya x Haruhi WC: 1,181) Prompt: An almost kiss Summary: Yet again Kyoya convinces Haruhi to be his date to another gala event. Haruhi asks a question that gets answered in the most unusual way. Is there more going on between a young no-name lawyer and one of Japan's Top 5 Eligible Bachelors than the public is aware? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: This was so fun to write! I love writing snarky Haruhi. I also love writing the back and forth between them. I mean they are my OTP I love the chase. XD I feel like they both can be very up front with each other but that they enjoy the subtleties of their conversations. I love the challenge between them, and how they push and test each other. I think in the beginning I didn’t quite know how to put them in a situation where there was an almost kiss, mostly because I still couldn’t get myself to fully commit to a fluffy piece of writing. But I think with what I did I could classify it as fluff defined by my standards (nobody died and everyone is happy). Favorite Line: “I don’t know any Ootori man to half-ass anything.” 4. Disgust and Devotion (Hikaru x Haruhi WC:1,083) Prompt: “Please don’t cry.” & “It’s three in the morning. What could you possibly want?” Summary: They said that it wouldn't work between them. Are their worlds so far apart that it is impossible? Hikaru is caught up in another scandal and Haruhi has reached her limit. Does she love him enough to stay or is she just too weak to leave? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: I think at this point in the prompts I still couldn’t get myself to write fluff and this ask was a fluff/angst mix with the two prompts provided. I do enjoy writing the HikaHaru ship even if there is not much out there. Originally when I was working on brainstorming ideas the end game was for them to have angry makeup sex. But I just couldn’t twist what I had in a way that would flow naturally with the base plot. I think I like writing Hikaru slightly drunk. It curves his temper and makes him more mellow. But he is still our impulsive little boy and he still has a ways to grow up. This wasn’t the first time that something like this has come up. Though both times he was not at fault (though in the original idea he totally did cheat one drunk night but couldn’t really remember). If anything the fluff is implied at the end.... Favorite Line: “The media can make it look like anything they want to with a well-timed photo.” 5. Love Over Reason (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 2,102) Prompt: “Are you blushing?” Summary: Loving someone is complicated. Sometimes we feel as though the ones we love deserve more than we can give. Does spending six months apart change Takashi and Haruhi's feelings for the better or for worse? AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net Thoughts: There was about 5 days between this fic and Disgust and Devotion and I still couldn’t really bring myself to write straight fluff... But this turned into quite a piece. I think I was hitting a stride of coffee shop AUs and I just couldn’t help myself. Ever love someone so much you push them away because you think it will be better than dragging them through your mess? Well same. I think the fluff in this fic is subtle. They care so deeply for one another that they don’t want to hurt each other more. And just to be kind I added more fluff at the end. I’m not sure I really like how I used the prompt for this one but what’s posted is posted. Favorite Line: “All I have ever wanted from you is you.” - This line still gets me all sorts of choked up when I read it.

6. Brutality Mixed With Intimacy (Takashi x Haruhi WC: 1,455)

Prompt: 'Please don't cry' or 'You know I have feelings for you, right?'

Summary: After months of following dead ends, the Ouran Association finally has a solid lead to obtaining useful information on the ring leader of a major underground human trafficking organization in Japan. All other hits had gone to plan for Takashi but this one hit too close to home. With Haruhi as their next target, he couldn't handle the risk of possibly losing her.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: Cue the beginning evidence of my current obsession with Mafia AU’s... The mafia au is just the perfect setting for my dark angsty heart! I just couldn’t resist. Especially when fluff was so far down the list of things I still wanted to write. I won’t name names but a certain TakaHaru shipper threatened me that they were going to write a fix it fic so that Haruhi actually ended up with Takashi instead of Tamaki. And of course she would end up with Tamaki, he of all of them would have the least blood on his hands.

Favorite Line: “You were never going to make it to the drop off location.”

7. Fashion and Feelings (Hikaru x Haruhi WC: 2,691)

Prompt: “You know I have feelings for you right?”

Summary: After years of silently watching and pining for Haruhi from afar, Hikaru finally gets the courage to reveal his true feelings for her. With his new spring line debuting in a few short days Hikaru is going to lay his fashion reputation and love all on the line in hopes of having his feelings reciprocated.

AO3, Tumblr, FF.Net

Thoughts: Finally, FINALLY, finally I was able to pull out just the most fluffy fluff I could write! Like it took everything I had to put no angst in this one at all. This prompt sat for weeks and weeks without progress. I didn’t have a clue with what I was going to do with it. Like, it laughed at me with it’s blank doc. I wanted this final prompt to be just fluff so I left it to sit until I finally had a spark of fluff. This can be read alone or as part of the back story for Disgust and Devotion.

Favorite Line: “Most people would be creeped out by someone other than a significant other who bought them lingerie.” Final Thoughts:

Shortest- Cameras and Questions Longest- Fashion and Feelings Combined Total Word Count: 11,443 Title Themes- I really wanted to give this round of prompts a slightly longer title theme. My favorite is probably Brutality Mixed With Intimacy but a close runner up is Public Masks for Private Matters.

Favorite- Fashion and Feelings Least Favorite- Love Over Reason Thanks to everyone who submitted requests! It is always a pleasure writing for you!

#OHSHC #ouran host club #ouran hshc #ouran high school host club #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh #Kyoya Ootori #hikaru hitachiin #takashi morinozuka #Takashi x Haruhi #Kyoya x Haruhi #Hikaru x Haruhi

17 notes · View notes

wolfofwinchester · 3 years

Text

♛. THE WOLF OF WINCHESTER

The birth of a title.

WARNING: Contains heavy descriptions of gore.

They’d half a mind to speed for the hills when they found the girl waving her blood-smattered arm along the side of the dirt road, their horses startled by the enormous wolf meeting her hip in height. The entire sight gave the humble folk and their steeds a terrible chill.

“Wait!”‌ The driver’s son grabbed his father’s shoulder, giving him a shake before he could slap the reins. “Pa, wait! That’s The Earl’s daughter, innit? It’s Lady Claudia!”‌

The much older man adjusted his dusty spectacles, then gaped and dropped from the wagon. “My Lady, what are you doin’ out here lookin’ in such a state?‌You poor thing, you–”‌ He stopped, cautiously, nervously, eyeing the beast at her side who seemed strangely docile, but highly aware of the man’s moves. The nerves rattling the farmer’s skin wanted to send him scattering from the beast alone, from its maw to its coat wet with crimson - but, there was white, dirty cloth wrapped around one of its legs. That, too, was red. The wolf was injured.

“I‌ had an unfortunate event occur to my poor self, good sir.”‌‌ Claudia spoke with a hand resting on her chest, teeth red and face a mess with what looked like dirt and mottled bruising, dressed with smears of blood. Someone struck the girl hard, her cheek was swollen. That was the sight that put the old man to ease, drawing out the compassion and the concern. “I‌ need to get home somethin’ terrible. Would ya help a Lady out?” Her hand rested behind Gelert’s head, giving him a good scratch. “He ain’t going to harm ya, I promise.”

The farmer called for the boy on the wagon and he leapt off, scuttling to the back to let the panel down for the weary girl who hitched a burlap sack over her shoulder, the older man’s caging her shoulders to provide some semblance of comfort.

“Let me take that for you, miss,” Spoke the son. “I‌ can-”

“No.”‌ Claudia cut him off short. “I‌ appreciate that, but I‌’ll be carrying this.”

The skies of April 5th, 1947 rumbled, earning the farmer and his son urgency. No Lady of Phantomhive was to be left in the rain.

Her exposure to rain was the least of Hawthorn Phantomhive’s, the father and the man who was almost burning tracks into the carpet he paced in his office, arms crossed behind his back. The man had a face of stone for the most part, never giving way to any emotion and always donning a frown. Only drastic measures made his brow ever so slightly twitch. Right now, there was a terrible twitch that was beyond his control.

“Foolish.” He cursed.

“Now now, M’Lord,”‌ Spoke a voice that made even the stoic Earl’s spine tremble. It creaked like an old door on rusted hinges, cracking with age — you could practically feel the dust tumble off the tongue it belonged to. “the last thing you want to do is let out such grievances while the dear girl has yet to be found. Men have been in your place and came to regret letting their mouth speak without the mind’s leash.”

A look like ice flew in the funeral director’s direction, who merely canted his head, hands that’d been crept close to his chest clicking their talons. That grin of his was absolutely unchanged by the look that made many crumble. Made the few others in the room feel grateful such intensity was not rested on them.

“Keep your penny dreadfuls behind your lips.”‌ The Earl stalked past the giggling man, pouring over his desk and peeling through the files. Photos laid scattered, files laid opened. He swatted aside the uncharacteristically bright green bag, wrapped by silver string and a tag with “do m'iníon milis*” attached. “Woolwich.”

“Not a peep, Lord Phantomhive.”‌ Piped a man with black hair, puffing on his pipe. “The only trading is in tobacco and weaponry from America.”

“Twyford.”

“Nobility’s not been in their stock for some time,”‌ Piped another with blond hair, rested languidly on the deep rich blue couch. “Druitt’s kept me sharply informed.”

“Norwood.”

Again, the funeral director spoke, traipsing to one of the long windows that peered over the front. “M’Lord, have I given you reason to doubt my information?”‌ He could see it, even if the others didn’t. He’d long since grown to recognize the subtle signs in the great Earl — the man was frantic.

“If I‌ find nothing in West Ham, I‌ want to know where to look next. Alternatives.”‌ Lord Hawthorn answered sharp. “Trafficking highborn is fast-paced. If my men can’t find her in the auctions tonight, I‌ will have others stationed elsewhere. Norwood.”

‌Tension laid thick, exchanges of glances between the two quiet nobles. The reports went on as the Earl listed off location after location, shouldering his coat and drawing ‘x’s on some parchment. The funeral director, on the other hand, had grown silent; his attention was quite preoccupied, watching a humble wagon roll up to the Estate.

“Well now,”‌ The Undertaker lilted, pricking every ear in the room. The tapping of a black nail on the glass drew Hawthorn’s eye. “the long lost pup has returned of her own volition.”‌

The mortician was all but shoved by the Earl’s rush to his side, which earned something of a frown that would’ve translated to “rude”. “Are you sure?‌ Are you certain?”‌ Hawthorn eyed, watching as his heir hopped to her feet, joined by that infernal wolf of hers. There was no mistaking it, it was Claudia.

“Good God,”‌ Uttered one of the two stray nobles, joining at the window. “The girl looks like she was dragged through the shambles. What did they do to her?”

“Oh, ‘to her’ you think?”‌

“Look at her, Undertaker.”

“I am. Are you?”

A strange look, but all interjected with the Earl’s quick turn on the heel as he strode from the office, the other three in curious tow. It didn’t take long to come across the girl, who walked clear through a gaggle of maids and footmen keeping their distance due to the growling Gelert.

“Claudia –”‌ Hawthorn barely got to speak, the bloodied progeny bore into him with a fiery leer the second their eyes had met. His heart pierced, looking at the mottled discoloration on her cheek of purple, and the crimson drench on her jaw stained to her neck and soaked deep into her collar. There were remnants of pearls in her curls, but the strings had obviously been busted, leaving wild raven blue flowing free in disarrayed waves. Her emerald dress was soiled in long-dried gore, the leading stench of iron that permeated and baked into her clothing from the Spring sun.

He didn’t see a wound on her, strike aside.

His arms rose, and Claudia silenced him immediately; she flung that burlap sack with enough force to make him grunt when it struck him in the gut, embracing that instead in confusion. He pressed it, and smelled the same whiff of iron; strong. Strong enough to make the two noblemen at his side gag.

It was also Claudia that spoke full and first, and also last. “Stiúradh glan uaim, fear Béarla*.” The Lady snarled, smeared mulberry-painted lips tucking into a snarl to show her teeth, the sharp canines with their white only seen in streaks through the ichor. Gelert in turn gave the same warning with a guttural growl. The two sounded too in-tandem to be comfortable. Made gooseflesh rise.

Locks flew with the storm that was the Bastard of Phantomhive, turned on her heel and surging down the opposite hall. The wolf lingered only a moment, adding to the edge Hawthorn felt cementing his feet to the ground, seeing to the father not following before padding after his mistress.

“— Lord in Heaven.” Came gagging when the burlap was peeled open, heads veering while the mortician peered closer with a coo.

“Might I, M’Lord?”‌ Lilted Undertaker, whom received no verbal permission, but the slow glance from those icy sapphires was all he needed to pry into the sack and draw back the bloodied noggin to cradle delicately in his palms. He rolled it, he examined it, grinning ear-to-ear with fascination of the wounds upon the facial features. Skin ripped from the nasal bone to show off shattered cartilage and strings of torn, and to his sharp eye, missing muscle. Half an eyelid hung over a lifeless grey orb, while the other was clearly ruptured beyond recognition; practically blood yolk.

The gap of freshly missing front teeth, bloodying the pencil mustache of the upper lip. Then the matter of the decapitation itself; how delightfully visceral! Only a bit of spinal cord hung, violently broken.

The Lords grimaced at the sight, and one even uttered a noise of disgust when the Undertaker clenched the bone with two nails and tilted it for closer inspection.

“Alexander Moore.”‌‌ Hawthorn noted, taking a cool moment to study the gored features before putting a name to it. “The Trader from West Ham.”‌ Notorious in the Underworld for his.. requested “stock”, of highborn and those of wealth. His trade knew no restrictions other than those who paid him in advance; he was feared because his men never left a trace when they took someone, and because he himself took part in the act.

He was not a man known for his mistakes, and he wasn’t one to be reckoned with, either. No matter the guard and no matter how high you were in the eyes of society, people died in pursuit of him. He was better off paid than trifled with. Hawthorn Phantomhive, however, did not bend to anyone.

As such, Claudia paid the price.

And then, Alexander.

“Wolf did a number on him. I’ve never seen a lopping like that.”‌ One of the men traced the outline of the broken spinal cord. It wasn’t clean cut at all, and the sharp of an edge pricked the noble’s finger with a hiss and a fast withdraw.

The Undertaker giggled, turning the head upside-down so the men had a better look. His fingers splayed around the neck, tapping a black nail to bone. “Take a closer look, m’lords — do these marks look like the dear Lady’s beasty?” Squints all around, and then the draining of color in two faces, joined by a hardness in the Earl’s. “These are human.”

The quick scuff of shoes as the two lesser nobles cleared from around the macabre viewing. “You’re mad if you think we’re going to believe—”

“Are you suddenly undertaker, Carlyle?”‌ Hawthorn cut, side-leering. There was no response to that. “If I remember correctly, you work as my bloodhound — so fetch:‌ find me Moore’s warehouse.”

The sun set, and would find itself easing into the horizon once the stated warehouse was found. In the middle of nowhere as to be expected, and it was thick with the odor of decay. The door to the place was wide open, and flies had set to buzz and whizz about as three men investigated the sight for themselves; Hawthorn, Undertaker, and of course, Carlyle, who must have been the palest of the trio as they stepped over the death scene.

It was a massacre. The bodies all had signs of mauling, there was not one man laid here that hadn’t been torn into by teeth, or sharp implement. Some were pelted with bullet wounds, and one unfortunate fellow hung strangled by chain with the ceiling. The main event was the office in the building, where a headless corpse laid in a heap upon the floor as the most violent death of them all; his stomach was busted into, and that, by the Undertaker’s inspection, was the work of the wolf, down the half-eaten intestines. His arms were broken, and the leather holster for his gun was empty.

“Think it was quick?”‌ Carlyle inquired, giving a kick to the Trader’s very stiff leg.

“No.”‌‌ Hawthorn answered, examining the wreck of the office. A struggle was evident, and the print of blood on the wall meant the man has his head slammed hard into the concrete, because the wounds on Claudia’s bod were lacking outside of a few bruises. There was no dire injury to be found. “I‌ think it was slow.”

“Very slow, at that.”‌ The Undertaker hummed, examining the neck more closely. “and excruciating! She chewed through his neck, see?‌ The muscles are strong, especially in a man like the late Alexander‌ Moooore. He was a man of fine physique. I’d reckon he lived well until she went for the main artery.”‌ A titter. “How terrible.”

“You don’t need to sound so happy about it, you goddamn madman.”‌ Carlyle muttered, exchanging clashing looks with the chipper funeral director. “That’s a corpse you’re hunched over.”

“Aye, and corpses are my work, Mr. Carlyle.”‌ A tilt of the silver-mopped head. “Don’t you ever feel exhilarated by your field of expertise?”

“I’m not entertaining that with a comment..”‌ The more Carlyle was exposed to this man, the less he felt he’d sleep at night. A shake of the head, and he glanced to the Earl. “What’re you thinking, Phantomhive?”

The Earl had given the neck a good, long look. One could only imagine what boggled through his mind, knowing this was the work of his heir, his daughter, without doubt. Teeth snapped through the bone. A slow, agonizing death. The girl rejected it so strongly, but there was no doubt in his mind that the cruelty of a Phantomhive was deep in her blood. Their family’s cruelty, after all, was something inherited. “I think I have a wolf from Winchester succeeding me.” Whether that was a very rigid and awkward attempt at humor was anyone’s guess.

A beat, and he rephrased himself. “I think I have the Wolf of Winchester succeeding me.”

‌--

Irish translations;

*‌ for my sweet daughter. *‌ Steer clear of me, Englishman.

#【 hc. 】 ¦ the wolf of winchester.#writing.#body horror //#horror //#(( you wouldn't believe I've been writing this for hours but la-de-da it's da-da-done.#the origin of why Claudia's called 'The Wolf of Winchester' !! ))#(( I apologize for the nasty gory details. ))#(( poor bby had a rotten sweet seventeenth. ))

1 note · View note

igottoomuchwriting · 4 years

Text

Tough Work (Reed900)

TW: Mentions of child abuse

From Gavin: hey bb i'm gonna be home late just so ya know

From Gavin: dont want you worrying

Richard looked at the message in his hub and smiled. He was glad that Gavin remembered to text him instead of leaving Richard to worry about his health and well being.

When the couple had started dating, Richard brought up the fact that they would most likely let their feelings get in the way of doing their jobs correctly. At first Gavin brushed him off, thinking that their relationship wouldn’t have strong enough feelings that it would become a detriment to their work.

Then, a month into their relationship, they ended up in a shootout with a suspect. The suspect had been aiming at Richard. Gavin, being the irrational man that he is, he jumped in front of Richard as he shot at the suspect. He was able to hit the suspect without killing him, however Gavin was hit in the side. Luckily all major organs were avoided and he was released without a few days, but Richard used this event to make Gavin see that working separately would be better for their relationship. Plus, they wouldn’t have to be around each other 24/7, statistically giving their relationship a better chance at surviving.

Richard ended up transferring, seeing as he had only been working at the main precinct for a year, verus Gavin working there since he began his career. His new workplace accepted him fully, especially after he got a letter of recommendation from Hank—his reputation still seemed to be held high amongst the other precincts.

It wasn’t a bad step up between the couple, though Connor did inform Richard that for the first two weeks of Richard being at a new precinct, he was crankier and seemed to be picking more fights. Richard talked to Gavin about it and was able to get Gavin to stop picking on new recruits (and Connor and Hank, at Connor’s request).

With the couple now working at different precincts, they had to balance different work schedules. Richard had both of their schedules on his internal calendar, so he knew when their days lined up, when they could meet up before going home, when they could head to work together, anything like that. Of course, there are days when either of them have to work late, so they make sure to keep each other updated for any changes.

Knowing it would be a while before Gavin would be able to get home, Richard decided to put off cooking dinner. He would be able to make something quick for Gavin when he got back. For now, he would make headway on the new book series he picked up while he waited.

Richard’s head snapped up when he heard the lock turn, just in time to see Gavin storming in and slamming the door shut behind him.

Richard watched as Gavin kicked off his shoes in a random spot, throwing his jacket on the ground and marching past Richard without so much as a hello.

“Gavin?” Richard called, confused.

“What.” Richard quickly made a note of where he left off and made his way towards the bedroom. He doesn’t know what could have happened that would make Gavin this mad, but he needed to get to the bottom of it.

“How was work?” Often Gavin did not like being asked what was wrong straight out, so Richard always had to go around until he wore Gavin down enough to open up. There were times when he wished Gavin trusted him enough to open up, but as he has learned from deviancy and every story that Connor and Tina have shared with him, humans—especially his human—were not that simple.

“Fine.” He did not look at Richard, just continued throwing his clothes around and making a mess.

“Did you get a lot of work done?”

“Yep.” Richard's face scrunched up in confusion. Something really must have made Gavin mad if he was refusing to look or talk to him.

Richard decided to stay back and watch. It seemed that Gavin had already forgotten that he was there, just moving around and picking up what he threw. Richard understood this to be his stress cleaning. He was okay with a little mess, a little clutter, though when the world gets too much he just cleans.

And then he just stopped. Gavin had been moving extra chargers they had back into the chest at the end of their bed when he froze. Richard waited for him to move, for him to keep cleaning, but it seemed as if he was in a trance. He stayed where he was, almost unblinking while staring at the box, hands clenched around the shirt he was holding.

Richard stepped forward and placed his hand on Gavin’s shoulder, prepared to pull the man back into a hug when Gavin snapped out of it. He shrugged off Richard’s shoulder and threw the cables into the chest before moving on, not once looking at Richard.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked.

“No Nines, I don’t want anything to fucking eat!” he snapped. Richard watched as Gavin turned around, anger burning in his eyes. “I’m not the one who needs food! I’m not fucking hungry, yet I decide to eat because I’m bored, when there are people out there who actually need something to fucking eat!”

“Gavin, what—”

“I just—I—” Gavin let out a frustrated yell and kicked the chest. “It’s fucking ridiculous! They can’t do anything about it!”

Richard pulled Gavin back away from the chest, pump pounding and errors flashing in his system. Gavin tried pushing him off again, fighting him and yelling, but Richard would not let him go.

“Let go of me!”

Nines forced Gavin to face him, holding his arms pulling him close. “Gavin, Gavin, please, what’s wrong?”

Gavin didn’t answer. He had stopped fighting Richard but he still wouldn’t look at him. Richard analyzed his boyfriend, reading his heart rate and breathing. He knows that it annoys Gavin but he’s just worried about him.

“Gavin, please talk to me,” Richard whispered. He let go of Gavin’s arms and placed his hands on his waist. Gavin wrapped his arms on Richard’s waist as well and hid his face in his neck. “What is making you so upset?”

“The scene,” he mumbled.

“What scene?”

“The scene that I went to tonight,” Gavin huffed. “It’s just...it was horrible, babe. I couldn’t even believe anything I was hearing.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Gavin held his breath, staying still as he contemplated.

“No, but I should.” he relented. Richard nodded his head and held Gavin closer, trying to provide as much comfort as he could. There are only a few things that he has seen make Gavin this upset, but he was always there when they happened. This is something that Richard has never had to deal with before.

“I got the call thirty minutes before I was going to get off of work,” he started. “I was confused on why they didn’t call Hank first, seeing as he is the senior officer in homicide, but I agreed to head to the scene nonetheless.” Richard nodded his head in understanding. Even though Hank and Gavin had a lot of tension, they really didn’t let any of that get in the way of their job. Of course it had taken a while for the two to get there, but Richard was proud of them.

“So I hopped in my shitty ass car and headed over. You know how it goes—I get there, it’s cold as shit, I look around for any obvious things, wave off people fucking peeping and trying to get a sneakpeak of the latest murder, get briefed.”

Gavin paused again. His breathing was deeper, more controlled, and Richard could tell that he was trying to keep his composure. He started rubbing Gavin’s lower back to comfort him and Gavin hugged him tight, kissing his neck.

“It.. the victim was a 9-year-old boy. His body wasn’t at the scene, he had been carried to the hospital, but we had been called on by doctors and other officials that we had to check out the house, as that is where the damage was done before he died. I checked out the house and… and—” Gavin grunted and took a deep breath once again.

“It is okay to cry and let out your feelings, Gavin,” Richard muttered.

“Yeah, I fucking know, it’s just—I saw his body. I saw the house.” He squeezed Richard tight but didn’t let go. “He was—there was so much fucking blood, Nines. Katy had gone around marked where all the blood splatter was and she ran out of fucking markers. We had gotten photos of the kid because that was important for our investigation and he—he had bruises, cuts, wounds, and blood all over him! He had a fucking hand print on his goddamn neck!” Richard could finally feel the tears on his synthetic skin, could feel Gavin shaking as he cried.

He was stunned. He knew that there were plenty of child murder cases that have been reported, but he and Gavin had never been called to see them, to investiagte them. It was never in their area.

“I am sorry, Gavin,” Richard mumbled.

“It’s just,” Gavin gasped. “He was so young! He didn’t fucking deserve an ending where he died at the hand of the people that are supposed to love him. And he looked so—so tortured! The bruises weren’t new, the wounds were healing. And it’s just—”

“Shh,” Richard mumbled. He adjusted his hold on Gavin and placed his hand on the back of his head, his other arm holding his waist. He swayed them on their feet as Gavin cried and cursed in frustration, in pain.

They stayed like that for many minutes while Gavin cried. Richard just held him through it. He has never seen a case like this. He has seen and dealt with cases where children are involved and Gavin was always with him on those cases. Though, they were before they started dating, so Richard would not be surprised if Gavin would go to his apartment and do the exact same thing he is doing now, except then he is alone with his own thoughts.

“That’s why they didn’t want to give it to Hank,” Richard commented once Gavin started calming down. Gavin nodded his head.

“Yeah, like—They know it’s a part of his job description, but I feel like Connor got a whiff of what the scene was going to be like and turned them away. For his sake.”

“That does sound like a very Connor thing to do.” Gavin let out a laugh.

“Yeah. Fucking bootlicker would never let someone even offer Hank his least favorite ice cream.” Richard let out a chuckle.

Gavin pulled back from Richard just a bit, looking Richard in the face for the second time that night. His eyes were extremely red and puff, and he had a bit of snot trying to escape. It wasn’t the prettiest face, but Richard would never expect it to be. Not after seeing something like Gavin has had to.

“Thank you for letting me cry,” Gavin mumbled.

“You can cry anytime you need,” Richard assured. “Your organic brain cannot handle when you bottle it up.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s see your circuits handle what my meatball can,” Gavin snapped, but he let out a small smile.

It was short lived. The smile quickly dropped from his face as he moved around, mind obviously still on the case.

“I think we should head to bed now,” Richard suggested. Gavin let out a nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think that would be best.”

And so they got ready. Gavin took a shower before getting ready while Richard laid in bed, nothing but his boxers, reading up on any news about the murder from tonight. He knew it was difficult for Gavin to even talk about the case in the first place, so he just wanted to see if there was any way that he could get his questions answered.

Gavin climbed into bed next to him and Richard quickly closed out the searches, fully turning his attention towards Gavin who was quickly curling up into his side. Richard turned off the lights in the house remotely before scooting down to get into a more comfortable position for Gavin.

“Gavin?” Richard whispered. Gavin let out a ‘hm?’ in acknowledgment, so Richard knew he had to talk fast before he fell asleep.

“That little boy was in the hands of the best people that could save him. Though he did not make it, you can do the next best thing and put those who hurt him behind bars.”

Gavin squeezed Richard and hid his head in his chest, but he didn’t seem upset.

“I know,” Gavin mumbled. “Thanks babe.”

“I love you.”

“Love ya too.”

#reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #gavin x rk900 #detroit: become human #dbh #fanfiction #sunwriting #tw: child abuse #mentions of child abuse

29 notes · View notes

rosethornewrites · 5 years

Text

Fic: Love Language, ch. 5

Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Kagami Tsurugi, Sabine Cheng/Tom Dupain, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Wayhem

Characters: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Kagami Tsurugi, Tikki, Tom Dupain, Tomoe Tsurugi, Sabine Cheng, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Kitty Section, Jagged Stone, Penny Rolling, Clara Nightingale, Alec Cataldi, Nadja Chamack, Fang, XY, Lila Rossi, Chloé Bourgeois, Wayhem, Le Gorille | Adrien Agreste's Bodyguard

Tags: Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Language of Flowers, Gifts, Traditions, Holidays, Cultural Differences, Kimono, Qipao, Family, Love, Romance, Celebrations, Symbolism, Aged-Up Character(s), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Christmas Fluff, Identity Reveal, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Family Dinners, Airports, feeding each other, sharing ceremony, Anxiety, Engagement, Kissing, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Admiration, Pet Names, Cuddling & Snuggling, yin and yang, Communication, Smut, Food Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Bathing/Washing, Kagami is a boob woman, Nudity, Instagram, Social Media, Sleeping Together, Wedding Planning, Wedding Rings, Lila salt, Alec Cataldi salt, Food Porn, Paparazzi, Panic Attacks, Chloé Bourgeois Redemption, Lila Rossi Lies, Date Night, Adrien Sugar, Relationship Goals, Protective Kagami Tsurugi

Summary: Kagami and Marinette have date night... which is abruptly interrupted by the paparazzi.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link (ch. 3 has smut)

FFN link (ch. 3 has implied sex)

Part 5 (currently) of the Catch a Falling Star series

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Love Language: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

-----------

Kagami and Marinette decided on New Year’s Eve Eve as date night, since the Eve itself was spoken for. While they normally didn’t frequent many Chinese or Japanese restaurants given the quality of what they could have at home, this particular restaurant was a new Asian fusion place, one that mixed Vietnamese, Thai, Cambodian, Korean, Chinese, and Japanese cuisines. It had received glowing reviews.

The fusion theme also appealed to both of them, based on the symbolism of their recent engagement, and they had dressed appropriately. Kagami was wearing a kimono-style tunic Marinette had designed and made for her, red and black with a diagonal half-skirt, over leggings with some very stylish boots. A matching fabric headband finished the look. Marinette was wearing the full-length qipao she had sewn for last year’s Lunar New Year. It was black with pink embroidery, and she’d added an experimental French flair with peeping black lace down the false slit along the shoulder and all the way down the dress. Kagami had confessed it was one of her favorites, so she loved to spoil her by wearing it. She had put her hair in twin buns again, the same style she had worn when Kagami proposed.

Even in a crowded restaurant, Marinette was hyper-aware of Kagami, of the details of every moment. She loved the feeling that they were in their own world, a special intensity to everything. No moment spent with her was boring; she brought life to everything by virtue of her presence.

Some fusion restaurants simply had food from multiple cultures, but this one actually fused different dishes in fascinating ways. Even better: the servings were tapas-style, so smaller portions, enabling them to try an assortment of options. With each dish, they posted pictures to Instagram, tagging the restaurant and working to come up with descriptions of the flavors to describe to people who might want to try it.

They were both fascinated by the menu and its many options. For her drink, Marinette chose a Korean, Chinese, and Taiwanese inspired omija chrysanthemum milk tea with rose jelly, which was unique and delicious. The mix of flavors was heady, hitting the whole tongue at once. Kagami selected a Taiwanese and Vietnamese fusion, orange tamarind boba smoothie; also fantastic, both fruits a mix of sweet and tart that somehow leveled out both in a way that enhanced the drink.

Since soups traditionally started the meal, they decided on seafood chao ga with dashi flavoring and clams, whitefish, and sea urchin—lovely rice porridge for the cold. The texture was thick and the dashi lent a savory flavor that balanced the fish well. Kagami mentioned that one of the flavors was possibly the light earthy-sweet of miso paste, as well as ginger and a touch of rayu chili oil.

Then they decided on an assortment of bāozi stuffed with different things, including Korean bulgogi, Thai coconut curry chicken, Japanese unagi no kabayaki, Cambodian fish amok, and Vietnamese bun cha. Marinette was familiar with all but the last two. The fish amok turned out to be a unique yogurt-thick fish curry made with coconut milk and a mixture of spices that offered a savory quality rather than heat. Bun cha was amazing grilled pork belly that had been marinated in fish sauce and mixed with rice vermicelli and pickled vegetables, all stuffed in a perfectly-steamed bun.

They also tried a couple types of okonomiyaki, one with kimchi and japchae and the other with spicy Sichuan làzǐ jī. The japchae folded into the pancake was sweet potato glass noodles, strips of beef, and a variety of thin-sliced vegetables, and it matched well with the spicy tang of the kimchi spread atop. A sweet umami Korean junganjang cream sauce, a light spiral on the red kimchi, cut the heat a bit and added another layer of flavor. The làzǐ jī was the kind of spicy that would put off those not used to Sichuan peppercorns, a wonderful numbing sort of flavor that was tempered by the okonomiyaki batter, paired well with a Japanese-style sweet ginger mayonnaise drizzled over the top.

By that point, all they could handle was dessert.

Kagami ordered Chinese gāo diǎn stuffed with Thai pumpkin coconut pudding; they were glazed lightly with a spritz of honey-rosewater. Still warm, the pudding and pastry melted together in the mouth. Marinette opted for Cambodian mango sweet sticky rice with a scoop of black sesame ice cream that both of them knew had roots in both China and Japan. They tried each part separately, then mixed, enjoying the texture of the slightly-warm sticky rice against the icy cream of the ice cream, and the way the different varieties of sweet melded.

Marinette had just fed Kagami the last spoon of the ice cream when their table was abruptly surrounded by people with cameras and microphones, startling her into dropping the spoon. The clatter it made sounded louder than the cacophony of competing voices that assailed them.

She only made our pieces of them, words and phrases.

“... that you’re a gold-digger…?”

“...stalked Adrien Agreste…?”

“...settled for…?”

“...Chinese concubine…?”

Though Marinette felt frozen under the deluge of abusive questions, Kagami stood at that last one.

The reporters quieted somewhat, waiting for a response.

“You dare imply the love of my life is the equivalent of ianfu?!” She pinpointed the man who had asked the question and Marinette noted absently that he was, of course, an older white man. “Ah, you work for that rag. My lawyer will be in contact.”

Marinette stood, trying to find courage in the fire in Kagami’s eyes.

“We do not consent to be filmed or photographed. If any footage or photos appear in any of your media, you will hear from our lawyers,” Marinette added, reaching out and taking Kagami’s hand.

She received a reassuring squeeze. This had happened immediately following their announcement, and in preparation for that Tomoe had the Tsurugi family lawyer appraise them of their right to control being photographed and the use of those photographs—one of the lovelier facets of French law.

The cameras lowered, but the questions commenced, their personal space invaded as what she realized were tabloid reporters jockeyed for position.

Marinette felt hemmed in, trapped by the ugly questions.

In the distance someone yelled, “Is that Adrien Agreste?!”

The shift away from them allowed Kagami to pull her toward the kitchen, which they were thankfully seated near.

Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin when someone touched her shoulder, but standing behind her was Wayhem.

He pulled them into the kitchen, where a waiter handed them their coats and whisked them toward a back exit.

“Adrien?” Kagami asked Wayhem, slipping several large bills to the waiter, far more than enough to cover their meal.

The clipped nature of her tone hinted at her stress.

“In the car. One of my buddies in a wig is distracting the morons.”

Marinette let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Whatever had sparked this, it was big enough for Adrien and Wayhem to mount a rescue—and do it quickly.

The back door of the car opened as they rushed out, and Adrien scooted over to make room for them. Wayhem didn’t bother trying to squeeze in back, instead taking the front passenger seat beside the Gorilla.

Before she could entirely register what happened, the car was pulling out of the alley, the restaurant receding in the background.

Kagami squeezing her hand brought her back to the present.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured. “I thought it had died down.”

“You missed us talking about that, Mari.” Adrien offered her a smile that was tinged with sadness. “It had. Then there were rumors spread by someone to major and minor tabloids. They literally started breaking an hour ago.”

Marinette felt overwhelmed, almost like her skin was too heavy and smothering to bear. “The things they were saying…”

Kagami wrapped her in an embrace, and the feeling started to ease immediately—because they were together, in this. Together in everything.

“My father is coordinating with Tomoe on finding out what happened. But it sounds like different rumors were released to different places, all at once almost.”

“Throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks,” Wayhem added.

Adrien scowled then, a look she almost never saw on him, and she realized he was truly angry on their behalf.

“I would bet anything we know who it was, though these faux journalists might pull the ‘protect their sources’ routine.”

Marinette went cold, her eyes meeting Kagami’s. They were filled with a fire that consumed, rather than that which usually smoldered.

“Lila.” Kagami said the name like it was something disgusting she had to expel.

“H-how… You got here so fast,” Marinette murmured. “Thank you.”

“We were on our way out for date night when the news broke,” Wayhem explained. “We saw you were at that restaurant—sounds amazing, by the way—and had the Gorilla divert.”

“Wayhem called ahead to the restaurant. Then he had a friend who lives nearby and does cosplay at comic conventions play decoy. I called my father, and he’s gotten in touch with Tomoe. Nathalie’s texting me updates.” Adrien’s lips twisted further. “Some of those rumors involve me, which means he’ll actually do something. Because ‘it affects the brand.’ Otherwise he wouldn’t care.”

Oddly, his anger helped ease her distress. Marinette let herself melt into Kagami’s arms, using breathing exercises Fu had taught her so long ago to work on finding her calm. As awful as this was, she couldn’t afford to get Akumatized.

“We aren’t headed to my home,” Kagami noted. “Or to Marinette’s.”

“Paparazzi.” Wayhem turned in his seat. “They’re camped out. It’s a mess.”

“Chloé called. We’re going to the Grand Paris.”

Marinette looked at him incredulously.

“She’s changed.” Adrien shrugged. “She’s probably mad on my behalf, not yours. But she extended the offer. My house is mobbed, too.”

A buzzing sensation registered against Marinette’s leg, and she realized it was Tikki trying to get her attention. She reached her hand in her purse and Tikki pressed her phone into it. She had missed calls and texts from Alya.

Alya: I didn’t know he’d do that.

Alya: he took evrythng out of context

Alya: that bastard i;m sorry

Alya: Mari pick up plz

Another call came in from Alya and Marinette pressed accept.

“Oh thank god! Mari, you got away?” Alya sounded positively frantic. “The feeds cut when you told them off.”

“Yeah. Adrien and Wayhem helped us escape. Putting you on speaker.”

“Thank god for the gays.” Alya’s voice filled the car. “Fucking Alec Cataldi, he… Dammit, I had no idea. He asked about our friendship and I thought it was like for a fluff piece or something.”

Marinette’s heart sank into her gut as she catastrophized over what Alya could have said.

Adrien held out his phone, a video playing.

“Yeah, we’re all awesome friends. For a while Mari had trouble talking to Adrien, had a big crush, bu—”

The clip cut to Alec Cataldi. “And there you have it, folks. An inside source confirms: Marinette Dupain-Cheng, fiancée of Kagami Tsurugi, was involved in a love triangle. An anonymous source revealed a history of stalking and trying to use Adrien Agreste to jump-start her fashion career. So is she a gold-digger…?”

Adrien stopped the clip.

“I’m so sorry!” Alya’s voice was strangled with rage and guilt.

Kagami wiped at her face with the sleeve of her tunic; Marinette hadn’t realized she’d been crying.

“That… You didn’t know,” she managed. “I can’t talk right now, though. I… I just can’t.”

They had ignored Cataldi’s requests for an interview because he did this sort of thing, but Marinette had never expected this. She felt sick, wondering if Nadja had been involved at all. She doubted it, but...

“I understand, girl. I’m gonna do a livestream. Set the record straight. That asshole.”

The call ended. Marinette let Kagami take her phone and tuck it in her purse, likely handing it off to Tikki.

She let Kagami gather her close, pressing her face into her shoulder. Her friends stayed silent the rest of the drive, letting her work to clear her mind, to push through.

By the time she really was able to focus on the world, she and Kagami were ensconced in a plush room at the Grand Paris, and a cup of tea was being pressed in her hands.

“Oh, you’re back.” Chloé’s voice was oddly gentle, the arrogant tone missing. “It’s chamomile. Helps me when I’m stressed.”

It was strange, seeing Chloé almost as though for the first time. The fallout from Miracle Queen back in collège had left her friendless, Sabrina eschewing her, and she’d left to finish her studies through online courses, then attended a different lycée. Marinette hadn’t seen much of her since.

She’d toned down, it seemed. Maybe even gained a little humility. She was wearing much more muted tones of makeup that fit her skin tone and hair. The smirk that had often twisted her features was absent. Even her hair was styled differently, in a loose bun.

“Hi,” Marinette murmured. “Th-thank you.”

Chloé nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable as she backed away. Their previous relationship had been oppositional. This was different for both of them.

Kagami was pressed against her side, offering comfort in her presence. Marinette noted she had her own cup of chamomile, shaking slightly in her hands. She leaned her head against her fiancée’s shoulder.

“I’m okay, mon beignet,” she whispered, and was relieved when Kagami laughed at the endearment and her hand stopped shaking. “We’re in this together. We can do anything.”

A giggle caught her attention, and she was surprised to find it had come from Chloé. Her laugh had always had a haughty quality. It was absent now.

“Those rags are ridiculous, falling for those rumors. You two… just ridiculous how in love you are. Bakery endearments. Geez.”

It was almost strange to hear her say ridiculous as she always had, compared to the rest of her tone.

“It’s like they think collège wasn’t forever ago for us.” Chloé offered a soft smile. “Sorry, I know this is weird.”

Marinette nodded. “You’re… different.”

Chloé shrugged. “I was a complete bitch. But… Well, we’re not in collège anymore. And I didn’t want to be that person who peaked there as nothing but a mean girl.”

A look passed over her face, almost anguished, and she turned away slightly.

“I didn’t want to keep being the stupid entitled brat who willingly worked with a supervillain as part of a fucking temper tantrum.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Chloé offered no attempt at justification, no request for forgiveness.

“I’m glad,” Marinette finally said, at least offering that much, if not absolution. “And I hope you’re happier.”

When Chloé turned back, there were tears on her face. “You know, when you said you thought I could be a hero… I was so awful to you, but still you…” She took a breath. “I just want to let you know it really meant a lot. It was important. So thank you.”

Marinette didn’t know what to say, and just offered a smile.

Chloé fidgeted a bit for a moment. “Um, anyway. This is Jagged and Penny’s suite. They’re getting here later tonight. Already told them what’s going on. Wayhem and Adrien are staying, too, in another suite—you’ll be sharing that one once it’s ready.” She flashed an awkward smile. “I’ll get you guys pajamas and such. We’ll figure this out.”

Then Chloé fled.

Marinette let her; no matter how much she had changed, she knew this was more than a little uncomfortable for both of them—more so for Chloé’s developed conscience.

And Chloé had given her something new to consider, something positive. Something else Marinette could cleave to as she worked through the shock of the awful things she was going to be reading about herself, and that she would have to refute.

She brought the fine china teacup to her lips, the delicate scent of chamomile wafting through her even before she took a sip. The warmth of the tea, of Kagami’s presence, the remnants of their date tattered but still existent, the knowledge that this couldn’t touch the world they had created… all came together to help calm her.

------------

Notes:

I’m big on verisimilitude, and I know if I read a fic that had the kind of restaurant described at the beginning, I’d want to know the fusion aspects. So I did a bunch of research on foods from each culture. All the foods do exist, but I’ve actually melded them in ways that I don’t believe do. With the exception of Thai curry chicken bao, which you can get at Wow Bao. Man do I wish a lot of them did, though!

I didn’t expect the chapter to go the way it did, in some respects. I actually thought I’d get further, to the New Year Tsurugi family event. But there was a lot happening in this chapter and I realized my initial estimation was way off.

I also wasn’t sure if there was going to be Chloé redemption, but then it just… happened.

Oh, and happy Adrien/Wayhem. In Catch a Falling Star-verse after “Never Let It Fade Away,” Adrien will have done some soul-searching and come to the realization he’s bisexual and was just so hung up on Ladybug he didn’t realize it (much like Mari being bi but hung up on Adrien). So when Alya jokingly calls them “the gays,” it’s more a general statement than bi erasure. Wayhem is totes gay though. Also, it’s casually brought in because they’ve been together a bit and is thus a normal thing to all the characters.

Enjoy the Alec Cataldi and Lila salt.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfiction #kagami tsurugi #marinette dupain cheng #marigami #kagaminette #kagami x marinette #wayhem #adrien agreste #ml gorilla #alya cesaire #alec cataldi #alec cataldi salt #lila 'the liar' rossi #lila salt #chloe bourgeois #chloe redemption #my fanfiction #adrien sugar

4 notes · View notes

phoenix-downer · 6 years

Text

Orpheus and Eurydice

Orpheus and Eurydice. Of all the stories Sora had heard, he hadn’t thought this would be the one his life would become.

It had all started out innocently enough. He and Donald and Goofy had dropped back by Thebes to check on a few things as a favor to the Moogles so they could get better weapons.

“Hey, Herc, anything we can do to help?” he asked as he found his friend helping clear debris.

Hercules set a broken pillar down and wiped his forehead. “Um, sure. See those vases and bowls over where Meg is? I think that merchant needs help moving them.”

Rebuilding an entire city wasn’t easy, but the people of Thebes had already made a lot of progress since they’d last visited. Sora trotted over to Meg with Donald and Goofy close behind. She gave them her usual half smile when she saw them before telling them where to move everything.

As Donald and Goofy carried a bunch of bowls and plates to the merchant, Sora’s hand rested on a vase. Unlike the other ones, which were all pictures of Herc, this one was different. There was a guy holding some sort of harp-looking thing, and behind him was a woman who kinda looked like a ghost.

“Orpheus and Eurydice,” came Meg’s voice. “Ever heard the tale?”

“No, I haven’t, actually,” Sora said as he dug his Gummiphone out of his pocket so he could take a picture. “What’s it about?”

“Once upon a time, there was a guy named Orpheus who was a killer musician. Son of Apollo. Comes with the territory.”

Sora took a closer look at the drawing. “Oh, is that what the harp’s for?”

Meg gave him an amused smile. “It’s a lyre, but yes. He fell in love with Eurydice, who was supposed to be a real looker.”

Sora grinned. Hearing about people falling in love was the best. Looking at Herc and Meg, hearing about this Orpheus guy and Eurydice— it was something he wished he could have someday, too.

He snapped a quick photo and tucked his phone back in his pocket. “So they were in love— then what happened?”

“The usual. They got married, were as happy as clams, and then—”

“They lived happily ever after?”

“She died.”

Sora’s heart sank. “Oh.” That sure wasn’t how he’d wanted the story to go.

“But the story doesn’t end there. Orpheus, he wasn’t about to let little inconveniences like death keep them apart. So, he went to the Underworld to save her.”

Oh, good. “Sounds like someone else I know,” Sora said with a teasing grin as he glanced in Herc’s direction. “What happened next?”

“He led her spirit out of the Underworld. If he could make it back without turning around, she’d be human again. Right as rain. As real as I am. But he couldn’t hear her behind him. She was still just a shade. No way to talk, no way to touch him, no way to make so much as a peep until they got out of the Underworld. He thought the gods had tricked him. At the last possible moment… he turned and looked around.”

Sora gasped. “Oh no! What happened after that?”

“He could see that she was really there, but her soul went back to the Underworld. He had no way of saving her.”

“Oh no! Did he—”

“He died afterwards, too.”

“Oh.” Sora stared at the vase in his hands. So that was why Eurydice looked like a ghost. And just when Orpheus had almost saved her, too.

“Depressing, isn’t it? I don’t know why all our stories are such Greek tragedies.”

“Yeah, it really is too bad.”

Sora liked stories, but… he really didn’t like the ones with sad endings. It was why he wanted to save Roxas. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t live his own life. It just wasn’t.

Meg put her hand on his shoulder. “Hey, chin up, slugger. Not all stories have sad endings.”

Sora nodded. “Yeah. You and Herc are proof of that.”

“So are you. You’ll get your lost strength back, I know you will.”

“Thanks, Meg.”

As he followed after her carrying the vase, he couldn’t help but hope she was right.

He did get his strength back. He got it back and then some. But all the strength in the world hadn’t been enough to keep Kairi from dying.

All that power and for nothing. He was still as helpless to protect her as he’d always been. His promise meant nothing. She had kept him safe, kept him from dying, stopped his heart from getting stuck in the Final World, just like she’d said she would.

She was his light in the darkness, just like she’d always been. It really had been her all along. And her act of true love had saved him. He was standing here right now because of her.

And in return, he couldn’t stop Xemnas from kidnapping her. Couldn’t even keep Xehanort from killing her. She’d been scared and in pain and—

He understood now. Understood what would drive Orpheus to go to the Underworld. The kind of grief and sorrow that would drive him to cross over into the realm of the dead for the chance to save his beloved.

“Not for one more second.”

He ignored Mickey’s warning and put Xehanort’s taunts out of his head. He knew what this was gonna cost him, and he was ready to pay the price. He’d made Kairi a promise, after all. He’d vowed to keep her safe, and he was determined to follow through with that.

If that meant searching the universe till he found her, he would. If it meant chasing the lich into the abyss to save her heart, he would. And if it meant crossing over into the Final World to rescue what was left of her body and soul, he would.

Anything. Anything for her. He’d put everything and everyone else above her for way too long. Now it was time he put her first for once.

Xion was right. Kairi wasn’t gone for good. Maybe it was because of the paopu fruit they’d shared, but he could still sense her heart tethered to his. It was faint and it was fading, but it was still there.

He didn’t hesitate. Once the sky was open, he jumped through the entrance his Keyblade had just unlocked, leaving his friends behind. Before, he’d said goodbye to Kairi to save them. Now, it was time to say goodbye to them to save her.

There wasn’t time to think, just act. World after world sprawled out before him as he fell, no, rushed through the darkness towards her, towards her faint light guiding him to her side.

“Kairi, hang in there!” he called as he dove into the first world. “I’m coming!”

“Where… am I?”

Kairi blinked. Not that it made much of a difference. Wherever she was was almost completely dark. Only a faint glow shone from her—

She yelped. Her arm was completely see-through. “What happened to my—”

Her hand flew to her heart. It ached, like someone had—

It all came flooding back. The piercing pain that had shattered her heart and body into a million pieces. How she’d been unable to do a single thing about it, enchanted as she’d been by Xehanort’s sleep spell.

All that training and for nothing. She was just as useless, just as helpless as always. It didn’t matter what she did, how hard she worked to improve. She’d always be a target, a liability. Nothing more.

Why had she even bothered joining the fight? Sora would’ve been better off if she’d stayed at home, or stayed with Merlin, or otherwise stayed far away from him.

Being with her brought him nothing but pain. Their enemies were always going to use her against him, use her to make him suffer. A few stolen moments together was hardly worth a lifetime of anguish.

“I should be dead,” she said out loud, though no one was here with her.

That was the ironic thing about being a Princess of Heart, really. She could save other people from dying, but she couldn’t save herself.

“Then why… why am I still alive?”

She froze. Something had just tugged at her heart. A faint connection, growing stronger by the moment.

It couldn’t be.

“Sora?” she choked out, barely above a whisper.

Had he done the same thing for her that she’d done for him? Used their connection to keep her tethered to this world?

But he didn’t have her powers. He didn’t have her light, he didn’t have anything shielding him from the darkness. If he went through with this, he would—

She struggled to her feet. “Don’t, please!”

But before she could try to stop him, something else caught her attention.

She wasn’t alone.

Something else was down here with her in the abyss.

Her Keyblade appeared in her hand. She might be nothing more than a heart, but at least she could still fight.

“Fire!” she called, trying to light up the area around her. But her magic was weak. She was weak. Barely hanging on to life. The Fire spell barely lit up anything at all.

Her enemy was a Heartless, that much she could gather. There was a heart-shaped hole in its chest, and its yellow eyes glowed in the dim light.

But something about this one was different. Something about this one made her stomach churn and her heart fill with dread.

Maybe it was the way it towered over her. Maybe it was the way the wand in its hand radiated an eerie blue light. Or maybe it was the way it kept staring at her with its soulless eyes.

Whatever happened, she couldn’t let it get too close.

She cast Fire magic at it, and it staggered backwards and disappeared. Whirling around, she cursed the darkness, cursed it for making it nearly impossible to see—

A cold, clammy hand rested on her shoulder, and she screamed and blasted it away with light.

But her light was weak, just like her magic was. Fading away. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.

Fire magic more powerful than hers came rushing towards her, and she barely rolled out of the way in time. She retaliated with a splash of water magic, only for a blast of water to douse her and send her sprawling.

Without her body, without her strength, she didn’t stand a chance. It would be easier to just give up. Let herself die for good.

But something inside her was screaming at her not to.

Staggering to her feet, she closed her eyes and focused, focused on the darkness. Her vision didn’t do her much good down here, anyway. Maybe, if she tried fighting a different way—

There. She lifted her Keyblade to charge when something wrapped its cold tendrils around her leg and yanked her to the ground. She cried out as the darkness snaked its way up her body and trapped her there.

She called on her light, but it was so weak now, so faint. It pushed back the darkness and briefly formed a barrier around her, but then it was gone, and with it, the rest of her energy.

The Heartless loomed above her now. She could make out its face, make out the skull without a mouth, see the elaborate headdress it wore.

A lich. It was a lich. One of those magicians seeking eternal life, seeking magic at any cost, seeking hearts to fuel its undead existence—

She was tired, so tired. Its staff was mesmerizing. She stared at it, at the heart glowing bright blue…

Yes, that was it. All she had to do was rest. Sleep. There was no point in continuing on. She was dead by rights. What Xehanort had done should’ve killed her. Her time in this world was through.

Her heart floated into the air, and it was like she was floating on the softest bed she’d ever slept on. Sleep and death weren’t so different, anyway. Two sides of the same coin, really. Her soul deserved to rest, deserved to be at peace after everything it had been through.

Maybe… maybe she could see her grandmother again. Her birth parents. In her heart of hearts, she’d never truly believed they were gone for good.

Guess it was time to find out. No one in the living realm would really miss her, anyway. She was a liability, a danger. They were all better off without her.

Especially… especially…

“Kairi!”

Her eyes flew open. “Sora?”

It was him. It was really him. He was flying towards her, and even though he was scared and worried, even though she hadn’t wanted him to come, even though she didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to be rescued like this…

She was glad he was here.

“You can’t have her!” he shouted at the lich in a way that made Kairi feel like living again. “I won’t let you take her from me!”

The lich let out an inhuman shriek as Sora struck it with the full force of his Keyblade. There was an explosion of light so bright it lit up the abyss and obliterated Heartless after Heartless lurking in the shadows.

The lich staggered backwards and released her, and with one last howl of rage, it was gone. Its magic no longer holding her heart, she nearly crashed to the ground before Sora caught her in his arms.

He gently lowered them both to the ground, still holding her, and pure relief flooded his face and tears filled his eyes as he gazed into hers.

“I made it in time,” he said, and his voice broke as he brought a trembling hand to her face. “I actually made it in time—”

He pulled her close and hugged her tightly, so tightly that she could sense how hard he was shaking.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna make it in time,” he choked out.

She put her arms around him and hugged him back. He was real, his touch breathing life back into her dying heart. But she couldn’t feel his warmth, couldn’t feel the texture of his shirt or his arms around her. Couldn’t feel much of anything at all without a body.

Still, body or not, just being with him was more than enough.

“You did,” she said, her own voice choked with emotion. “You found me. You kept your promise, Sora. The paopu fruit really worked.”

He was crying now, and she would have been, too, had she had her body.

“You died,” he said with a sob. “I watched you die—”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so useless.”

He leaned back to look at her, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. She wished she could wipe them away. It was wrong to see him cry. She wanted to see his smile again. Wanted to hear his laughter once more.

“Why are you apologizing?” he said. “It’s my fault, I should’ve protected you, I promised I’d keep you safe—”

She shook her head. “No. It’s my fault. I was weak, and Xehanort used me to make you suffer.”

All the color drained from his face. “You’re blaming yourself for your death? Kairi, why? Who told you—”

His eyes snapped to something behind them, and his grip around her tightened. “I have to get you out of here. This place isn’t good for anyone’s heart. Not even yours can hold out against the darkness down here forever.”

“But Sora… I’m just a heart. I’m see-through. How can I live without my body and soul?”

He carefully readjusted her weight in his arms and stood. “We’re gonna get them. I know where they are. I just had to come for your heart first.”

“Where are—”

He hissed and winced, and his body briefly flickered as he gripped her tighter.

She froze. “Sora, what’s happening to you?”

He smiled, even as his eyebrows were still knotted together and his teeth were gritted in pain. “I’ll be fine. But we gotta hurry.”

She frowned at that. Would he really be okay after diving into the abyss like this?

Chewing her lip, she placed her hand over his heart and—

“Kairi, no,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve gotta save your strength.”

“For what?”

“You’ll see. Hang on. I’m gonna get you out of here, I promise.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her face on his shoulder. The way he was looking at her right now, she almost forgot where they were and what had happened to them.

Then they were flying up, up, up, and out of this place. Away from the darkness and into the light. With each passing moment Kairi felt her heart get lighter and her strength return, bit by bit.

She lifted her head to look at Sora again. Sweat dotted his brow and upper lip, and a shudder ran through his body that made him wince.

“Sora?”

He just smiled and squeezed her side. “Hang in there, Kairi.”

Then the light enveloped them both, and it was too bright to see clearly anymore. When Kairi finally could see again, they were in… heaven?

It sure looked like heaven, anyway. Blue sky with lots of clouds floating all around them and nothing beneath them but more sky. Scattered as far as the eye could see were colorless floating stars.

Were those… people? She could sense hearts here, lots and lots of hearts. Was this where her body and soul were? It was true, she could feel them more strongly than before, but—

“You know, for most people one near-death experience is more than enough to last them a lifetime,” came a high-pitched voice from somewhere below them. “And yet you’re back here again already. You are one strange guy.”

Kairi craned her neck to see who was speaking. A small cat-like creature wearing a cape and a pink pouch around its neck was looking up at them, a quizzical look on its face.

“Chirithy, please!” Sora said, his voice pitching higher. “Kairi’s body and soul are in pieces, and we need help finding them!”

Chirithy looked between her and Sora for a few moments before making what she could’ve sworn was a pout.

“Oh, fine. But I don’t do this for just anyone, you know.”

Sora’s grip on her tightened. “Kairi’s a Princess of Heart, the worlds are depending on her to—”

“Oh, I know,” Chirithy said, waving its paw in the air as it took off with Sora following after it. “The worlds would’ve collapsed into darkness if she had fully died before passing on her power to another, you know. Phew, that was a close call. You kept her tethered to life, didn’t you?”

Sora nodded. “I couldn’t just let her go. I promised. I promised she wouldn’t be alone anymore. Not for one more second.”

Something about his words made her feel like crying and smiling at the same time. She reached a weak, see-through hand to his face, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel his warm skin under hers, but she couldn’t feel much of anything. Not without her body.

“Sora—”

Another flicker went through him that made him wince, and—

“There!” he cried before she could say anything else. It was a flickering image of her strolling past. She reached out and touched it, and a spark of warmth shot up her arm as a little bit of her energy returned.

Sora smiled at that. “See? You’ll be as good as new in no time.”

With Chirithy’s help they tracked down dozens of Kairis, walking and running and giggling and charging and dancing and jumping. Flickers of memory, fragments of her body and soul spread out across this strange world where sky met sea. Up pillars of clouds and down again to find the missing pieces of her.

When she had enough of her body back to feel Sora holding her, to experience his warmth and sense his heartbeat, she knew she was ready.

“Sora, I think I’m feeling strong enough now. You can set me down,” she said. Partly because she was, and partly because his footsteps were dragging and his face was pale and covered in sweat. The stronger she got, the weaker he became.

“Okay,” he said, carefully setting her on the ground. He didn’t let go of her hand, and she didn’t let go of his. Her body was mostly visible now; her legs were all that was missing. He was all visible, and yet he kept flickering.

She knew now. He couldn’t hide it any longer. The closer she came back from the edge of death, the closer he got to it. And yet he stayed with her, a big smile on his face like they were just going on a new adventure. Like he wasn’t nearing the end of his life because he’d chosen to save hers.

“I know the circumstances aren’t really the best,” he said after she returned a particularly difficult-to-reach Kairi to her heart, “but this is what I always wanted.”

“Us… together?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I always wanted to see other worlds with you.”

Hot tears stung at her eyes and a lump built in her throat. “I did too.”

He just wrapped his arms around her and brought her close. “Kairi, no time for tears now. If you cry, I’m gonna cry. And I don’t want the rest of our time together to be sad, you know?”

“Yeah.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. Sora wanted her to be brave for him. So she would. She would be brave for his sake.

He leaned back, and his smile was gentle as he gave her hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”

All she could do was nod. She didn’t trust herself not to cry if she spoke.

He glanced out at the world sprawling out below them, at the clouds and sky and sea all blending into one. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

She nodded again. “Beautiful and… sad.”

Those stars… she knew what they were now. The lingering hearts of the dead, clinging to bonds to those still in the land of the living—

“I guess,” Sora said, “but… for me… knowing the people here haven’t let go of the people they love, even in death… it gives me hope.”

His smile was sad, and her promise not to cry just got a whole lot harder.

“Kairi… do you think I’ll still remember? Once I’m…”

Kairi had no good answer to that. She couldn’t give Sora any empty platitudes; that wouldn’t help. Comforting a dying person by saying he would be okay when she had no idea, no way of knowing for sure, if he really would be…

But she could tell him something else. Something she knew was true.

“Even if you don’t, Sora, I’ll still remember you. We all will.”

He nodded at that, tears shining in his eyes now. “Yeah.”

They had to look away from each other, or they were both going to cry. They walked silently, hand-in-hand, because there was nothing else that needed to be said. Kairi almost didn’t want to find the rest of herself now, because that would mean Sora’s time in this world truly would be over. But he led her along until he couldn’t anymore, till she was the one leading him along as he leaned against her for support.

There. The final Kairi was up ahead. A Kairi writing a letter, a letter to the boy she couldn’t remember. A faint smile appeared on Sora’s face at that.

“It all began with a letter, didn’t it?” he said.

Kairi just stared at herself as the memory Kairi’s pen flew across her piece of paper. Writing to the boy everyone had told her didn’t exist. Writing to the boy she knew she’d forgotten. Creating a way for him to come home to her against all odds. Making the impossible possible.

“But it won’t end like this,” Kairi said, her voice low. “I’ll find you, Sora, I swear. This might be goodbye for now, but it’s not goodbye forever.”

“Kairi—”

“Death couldn’t take you from me before, and it sure isn’t going to now. I’ll find a way to get you back. Our friends will help, I know they will.”

Sora just stared at her for a moment.

“What? You don’t believe me?” she asked. If Sora really thought that she was going to let him go now, after all this time—

He shook his head and let out a soft chuckle. “No, I do. It’s just that… I thought I was Orpheus and you were Eurydice. But maybe it’s the other way around.”

“Huh?”

He just shook his head again, his spikes going this way and that. “Ask my friends Herc and Meg about it sometime.” He squeezed her hand, his eyes softening. “I’m ready when you are, Kairi.”

She nodded at that. The letter-writing Kairi glanced up, and a knowing smile spreading across her face as she reconnected with Kairi. At long last, Kairi was whole again, her strength returned, her body and heart and soul reunited once more.

Sora’s smile was radiant, the look on his face like that of a conquering hero, of a victor who had just won it all.

“We did it,” he said, his voice weak but his spirit strong. But still he remained; he didn’t fade away into nothingness; he clung to life.

“We did,” she said with a nod. For now, at least, they were both alive.

Chirithy scuttled up to them, its little purse bobbing up and down and its cape floating out behind it in a way that made Kairi want to scoop it up into a tight hug. The little creature’s dignity probably wouldn’t suffer such an insult, however, so she resisted.

“Huh, so you did,” it said. “Congratulations.”

Sora raised his eyebrow. “What, did you think we wouldn’t pull it off?”

Chirithy just waved its paw. “That’s neither here nor there. It’s time for you two to go home now.”

Kairi looked at Sora. “Home. Together. Just like you promised.”

He nodded before turning back to Chirithy. Kairi helped lower him to the ground so that he was much closer to Chirithy’s eye level.

“Chirithy, you really should find that friend of yours if you can,” he said. “I bet they miss you, and…” his eyes briefly flickered downwards before glancing back up to meet Chirithy’s again. “I won’t be able to come back to visit you. Not for a while, anyway.”

Chirithy scratched behind its ear. “I guess I could try to find him, even if he doesn’t remember…”

Sora nodded. “That’s the spirit. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. The mind may forget, but the heart never does.” He looked into Kairi’s eyes and smiled. “Because that’s the heart’s true nature— to never, ever let go.”

She nodded and helped him stand as he wrapped his arm around her and leaned against her for support. His body flickered again as they said goodbye to Chirithy, and then it was time for them to go, too.

“Where to?” she said softly.

“Where else? The place we swore an oath to each other,” he said as he summoned his Keyblade. “Our friends are all waiting. They know we’re coming back.”

He held his Keyblade up to the sky, opening the portal home. Light burst forth from it, enveloping them in its soft glow, and then they were falling home, no, flying home, hand in hand.

And Sora didn’t let go of her hand, not for one second. He held it fast as they sat together on the paopu tree watching the sunset, gave it one last squeeze as he gazed into her eyes once more.

He didn’t say anything because he didn’t have to. The way he was looking at her, the way he was smiling at her – she knew what was on his mind anyway.

It was worth it to him. She was worth it to him.

She couldn’t help the tear that slid down her cheek. It was one thing to be brave in the face of sorrow; it was another thing else entirely to be stoic in the face of love.

And then he flickered again, but this time it wasn’t just a flicker, no, he kept fading, faded like the sun setting over the horizon, the warmth of his hand in hers giving way to the coldness of night and nothingness and emptiness. The wind picked up and she slumped forward, no longer brave, allowed to grieve for him now that he was gone. Her smile gave way to tears as everything hit her all at once.

Sora was dead, and it was all because of her. She knew he would never blame her, but she couldn’t help but blame herself.

As their friends rushed to check on her, to ask what had happened, to see what was going on, to make sure she was she okay… their grief and shock and confusion as they realized what had happened, as they realized what Sora had done, as they realized he was gone, hit her all over again and made her cry that much harder.

No one said anything as Riku hopped up on the tree next to her. Kairi just buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed, and he put his arms around her and brought her close. He didn’t seem to care that she was getting snot and tears all over his shirt, just did his best to comfort her over something that could never be comforted.

When she was about cried out, she felt a hand on her shoulder. The look of empathy Aqua gave her nearly drove her to tears again, and when she saw Naminé – Naminé was here, Naminé was safe! – and Xion there, too, saw the tears in their eyes for her, for Sora, it was too much. It was all too much.

Donald and Goofy were crying, too, and seeing them cry like that, like they’d lost a son… Kairi felt guilty for even existing. And Mickey’s face was forlorn, the tears in his eyes clearly visible when his met hers. Lea and Isa were here, too, and Isa even looked sad about what had happened.

“Kairi, I’m so sorry,” Lea said, the first to break the silence.

“No, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry I’m here and not him.”

To her surprise, it was Terra who spoke up. “No. It’s not your fault. He made his choice. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. He’d just be happy you’re safe.”

Aqua gave him a look at that, and Kairi thought she understood why.

“Kairi, where do you think he—” Roxas asked, his voice low, his eyes meeting hers. So much like Sora’s, and yet so clearly not his.

“I don’t know,” she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes, “but I’ll find him. I promised.”

She felt Riku’s hand on her shoulder. “And I’m going with you.”

She turned to Riku and placed her hand over his, the hand that moments before had been entwined with Sora’s. “I know you will.” She looked at all of them. “I told him you’d all help me get him back.”

“We will,” Ventus said, his voice low as he wiped his nose but his eyes blazing with determination. “It’s the least we can do, after all he’s done for us.”

They all nodded at that and promised to help her find him, whatever it took. And looking at them, knowing she wasn’t alone in her grief, knowing she wasn’t alone in her efforts to find him, Kairi could hope again.

Sora was right. That was the heart’s true nature— to never, ever let go.

She wouldn’t let go, not now, not ever. And until the day they were reunited again, she wouldn’t rest until she’d found him.

“Man, Sora, those friends of yours seem to care about you a lot. It’d be a shame for you to be gone for good, and I guess I do still owe you a favor…”

Joshua stood and allowed himself a slight smirk. It wouldn’t be too hard to pull this off, not at all.

“Hope you enjoy Shibuya.”

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed my first (completed) fic since I’ve finished playing KH3.

Some of the more recent news that’s come out since this idea first came to me (as well as clarifications about lore) almost certainly contradicts elements of the story, but I liked the concept too much to abandon it.

Writing it was really cathartic, actually... really helped me sort through my feelings about the game’s ending. Gave me some closure for the stuff we didn’t see on screen (yet?) either.

As I was finishing parts of it up, Pavane for a Dead Princess by Ravel came on on Spotify, and... I think it fits the story quite well, so give it a listen if you’d like.

Reading @rapis-razuri’s fic "The Usual Street" inspired me to finish this one, and she helped me come up with the summary for AO3 and FFN. A big thank you for that!

And as always, thank you for reading!

316 notes · View notes

johnnymundano · 5 years

Text

Delirium (1987) (AKA Le foto di Gioia)

Directed by Lamberto Bava

Screenplay by Gianfranco Clerici and Daniele Stroppa

Story by Luciano Martino

Music by Simon Boswell

Country: Italy

Running Time: 93 minutes

CAST

Serena Grandi as Gloria

Daria Nicolodi as Evelyn

Vanni Corbellini as Tony

David Brandon as Roberto

George Eastman as Alex

Katrine Michelsen as Kim

Karl Zinny as Mark

Lino Salemme as Inspector Corsi

Sabrina Salerno as Sabrina

Capucine as Flora

delirium /dɪˈlɪrɪəm/ noun 1) an acutely disturbed state of mind characterized by restlessness, illusions, and incoherence, occurring in intoxication, fever, and other disorders. 2) a 1987 Italian giallo erotic horror film directed by Lamberto Bava characterized by illusions, incoherence, boobs and dismal 1980s pop “star” Sabrina being stung to death while buck nekkid except for a very poor bee mask.

(Guilt Belch: The print of Delirium I streamed was atrocious. So I have had to nick pics off IMDB. Thanks, Prime.)

Delirium is a terrible but worryingly enjoyable (very) late entry in the Italian giallo cycle. It is also a frighteningly prophetic movie. While it retains enough of the hallmarks of its Italian genre forbears to remain identifiably a giallo, Delirium also clearly points to the forthcoming cultural nightmare of the American cable TV style “erotic thrillers” of the 1990s, which in retrospect were neither erotic nor thrilling. These dismal American exercises in coy peekaboo tedium all starred Shannon Tweed and were about as erotic as sorting the recycling in the rain. They possessed plots so featureless they might in fact all have been the same movie, just edited differently and given a different title (Animal Longings, Nocturnal Emissions, Nocturnal Longings, Animal Emissions, Nocturnal Animals, oh wait…). I don’t know much about them beyond that because I was busy playing Quake and they were, well, dull; Delirium is anything but dull. Delirium is ridiculous, misogynistic, stupid, and on at least two occasions astoundingly Guinness Book of Records level nuts, but it is rarely ever dull. Delirium is either better than you think or worse than you think, or both. Whatever, it’s definitely something.

Gloria (Serena Grandi; chesty) is an ex-“glamour” model who has used the money from her husband’s recent death to empower herself by moving into publishing. In a strikingly feminist move Gloria has chosen to publish the same kind of glossy booberama she used to appear in; it’s called Pussycat, because classy never goes out of fashion. Her next door neighbour is Mark (Karl Zinny; overwrought), a young man confined to a wheelchair after a car accident in which his fiancé died. He peeps on the Pussycat photoshoots Gloria stages poolside, and frequently rings Gloria up to tell her how hard she makes him and how much he wants to “invade her flower”, because contrary to reports romance isn’t dead. Kim (Katrine Michelsen; expendable), Gloria’s friend is, however, very dead; stabbed by a pitchfork in front of Mark’s creepy peepers. Gloria thinks Mark’s having her on since no body is found, but then photos arrive showing Kim’s corpse posed in front of a blown up photo of Gloria’s chest, and when Kim herself turns up in a skip Inspector Corsi (Lino Salemme; macho) is called in to look virile and get everything wrong.

Delirium being a giallo first and a cinematic spank mag second, the dead bodies accumulate faster than the glimpses of skin, and almost as fast as the red herrings. Basically, the race is on to unmask the killer before everybody in the movie is dead. Mark saw the killer had long blonde hair so is the killer Gloria’s blonde haired assistant Evelyn (Daria Nicolodi; too good for this)? But Kim was posed in front of an old photoshoot only Roberto (David Brandon; again, too good for this) has access to, so it must be him right? Yet Roberto claims the negatives were stolen, so maybe it’s Flora (Capucine; think an evil Sybil Danning) who is trying to wrest the magazine from Gloria, who Flora feels owes her one since she saved Gloria and her brother from “the street”. Or maybe it’s Gloria’s brother Tony (Vanni Corbellini) who can’t get it up for ‘80s pop footnote Sabrina? Gloria bumps into an old flame, Alex (George Eastman; rugged), who can get it up, as we see in a scene where he humps Gloria’s thigh in the bath while she shakes about a bit, but Alex proves elusive after his comeback hump so maybe it’s him? There are so many suspects I even forgot to mention Mark, but then he can’t walk, so it can’t be him. Or can he, so can it? Or something?

Delirium’s mystery is enjoyably daft, and despite the flat lighting, terrible music and capable but unadventurous direction you will find yourself trying to guess who the killer is, as though you are watching something that actually might make sense. This is the fundamental magic of giallo; it tramples the boundaries of sanity so enchantingly that to not go along with it would leave you feeling like a sour faced party pooper. Delirium is trash, yes; but it’s magnificently, unapologetically trashy. Now, you can either take my word on that and watch the movie and have your mind blown harder than a sailor on shore leave, or you can read on where there be SPOILERS for the twin trash highpoints of Delirium.

For connoisseurs of the bizarre there are two great reasons to watch Delirium, and no, that’s not a set up for a very poor joke about the physical talents of the well upholstered star Serena Grandi. At one point Kim, smoking by a swimming pool, without any whiff of warning, inexplicably and suddenly has a face like a giant eyeball in a wig. The fact she is promptly pitchforked to death is just the icing on the, uh, eyeball. (Eventually you figure out that this eyeball faced lady is what the killer sees in the grip of their…(ta dah!) delirium, but I’m pretty sure the movie never explicitly explains it. Which is either lazy or brave; you decide.) This scene alone is all kinds of amazing, so much so that I feared Delirium had peaked early (like Tony; Boom! Boom!), but luckily even the pitchfork murder of an eyeball faced woman is not ridiculous enough for Delirium. No, Delirium also has a scene where 1980s pop warbler Sabrina is stung to death by bees in her own apartment while wearing only an unconvincing bee mask. This latter scene goes on at eye glazing length. It’s sobering to realise how quickly the human mind can become bored by the sight of a 1980s pop shouter being stung to death while wearing only a very poor bee mask. Unless of course you have a fetish for 1980s pop nonentities being stung to death while wearing only a very poor bee mask, in which case you might want to marry this movie. I’m certainly not judging you; it’s a big world. And Delirium is big, guilty fun.

#Movies #Giallo #Delirium #The 1980s #1987 #Italy #Lamberto Bava #Serena Grandi #Capucine #Sabrina #Sabrina Salerno #Daria Nicolodi #David Brandon #Le foto di Gioia

17 notes · View notes